


a satellite beside me

by luxluminaire



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Sex, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxluminaire/pseuds/luxluminaire
Summary: After a few months back home on Earth, Isabel Lovelace returns from a much-needed vacation and is ready to settle into a quiet life with her friends as she figures out what to do next. But between the secret revenge mission that she plots against Goddard Futuristics, the nightmares that refuse to stop haunting her, and her increasingly apparent attraction to Minkowski, she soon realizes that she still has much to reckon with, and so she must face her past and present head-on as she moves forward into her new life.(Now complete!)





	1. Chapter 1

Earth is a strange place for Isabel Lovelace after having spent so many years in deep space. She’s not sure whether she can call it a homecoming when her current body has come from a place beyond the stars, but her memories claim this planet as home regardless. A lot can change in almost seven years, however, and her memories of Earth have twisted and distorted themselves into an image that does quite not line up with the reality that awaits her when she returns. Even without the detail of how she is the first alien duplicate to set foot on Earth, she has never felt more like a stranger in a strange land than she does when she steps onto solid ground and looks up at the blue sky and distant sun.

But returning to Earth gives her the opportunity to redefine herself, seeking out the corners of her identity outside of the woman who has spent far too long in deep space. She is happy to be just Isabel now, shedding the formalities of the mission and military protocol that have defined her for so many years. She supposes it could be considered a soul-searching journey when she leaves on a well-deserved vacation after dealing with the inevitable mountains of red tape that come with returning from space (and the dead), but by the time she abandons the warm beaches of paradise she’s not sure whether she has arrived at an answer about who she is on Earth. All she knows is that a) being an alien surrounded by unassuming humans is just as weird as she has expected it to be, b) getting revenge on what remains of Goddard Futuristics will be much harder than anticipated now that she is constrained by laws greater than the military chain of command and her own moral compass, and c) she misses her friends from the Hephaestus more than anything.

The last point brings her to the final destination of her journey: the house that Doug and Renée have bought with some of the _very_ generous compensation money that Goddard Futuristics has given each of them as supposed repayment for all the trouble that they have been through. Only Doug and Hera live there full time, as far as Isabel knows, but through various communications she has gathered that Renée spends a fair amount of time visiting them. Isabel appreciates having a place to crash for the foreseeable future as she figures out what to do next, especially when it puts her in the company of people who understand how difficult it is to readjust to life on Earth. It will be just like she’s back on the Hephaestus again, except with the convenient existence of gravity and a distinct lack of impending doom closing in on her from all sides.

She stands outside the front door of the house with her small amount of essential belongings stuffed into a single suitcase. No chime resounds from the doorbell when she rings it, and so she presses it again with more force. When it once again emits no sound, she gives up and bangs on the door loudly enough to be heard from deeper within the house.

The door finally swings open to reveal the form of Doug Eiffel--Doug 2.0, she supposes, now that he faces the inverse dilemma that she does in that he has the same body that he left Earth with but has been left with the factory reset version of his mind. He is as good at acting like his previous iteration as Isabel is, however, and so when he stands in front of her as his usual scruffy self it’s easy to believe that he is that same person who had become her friend over the course of the struggles that they faced together.

“Your doorbell’s busted,” she says to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies. “I thought about having someone fix it, but then I realized that Hera has a camera right outside the door, so I can just have _her_ be my doorbell.”

Isabel glances around and sees a small camera mounted near the door, indistinguishable from any normal surveillance system. It turns toward her and tilts slightly in the closest equivalent to a silent greeting that Hera can give to her. “I’m sure she loves that,” she says.

“Technology, right? Super amazing.” Doug gives a brief appreciative laugh. “Anyway, it’s great to see you, Isabel.”

As happy as she is to be “Isabel” again, the name sounds strange coming from him, She half-expects him to give his usual old greeting of “Hey, Cap,” but those days are far behind her now. They are now lost among the memories that have been destroyed, remaining eight light years away at a strange star that no longer has a station orbiting it.

“Yeah,” Isabel replies. “It’s great to see you too.” Her instinct is to pull him into a hug, but her body does not follow. She remains mostly a stranger to him, after all, and they have not yet had the time to regain the closeness that once existed between them.

They enter the house. Its interior is much different from the last time she had been here, soon after Doug and Hera had moved in and before she had purchased the first plane ticket that began her extended vacation. Everything looks a little homier and lived-in now, with furniture and decor giving the space a more personal touch. The cameras and speakers in each room mark Hera’s presence, and although Isabel had never questioned the similar setup on the Hephaestus, the existence of Hera’s components seems strange in a regular home. Then again, there’s nothing quite normal about having an AI wired into a house, with her servers stored in the attic and her figurative eyes in almost every room. She does not have the same control over her environment as she did on the Hephaestus, and she runs a fraction of the amount of tasks, but her omnipresence remains the same as ever.

“Hi, Captain,” Hera greets her.

“You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know,” says Isabel. She steps out of her shoes and leaves her suitcase at the door. “I’m not really the captain of anything anymore.”

“Right, sorry. It’s just something that’s still in my programming.” Even at her most apologetic, Hera sounds infinitely more confident in herself now that her vocals no longer contain their once-frequent distortions and glitches. “I’ve figured out the loophole to get around it, but it may take a few tries until I get used to the workaround for you in particular.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isabel assures her. She makes a path for the couch and sits down, stretching her legs long across the cushions as she immediately makes herself at home. “How’s life as Doug’s roommate?”

“It’s kind of weird to be in a smaller space and not have as many systems to keep track of,” Hera replies. “But we’ve had a lot of fun times together, and it definitely isn’t boring.”

“She loves movie nights,” Doug adds. He perches himself on the arm of the nearby chair. “And we’re _this_ close to figuring out how we can play video games against each other.”

“Glad things seem to be working out okay,” Isabel says, She has always thought that Doug and Hera’s current living arrangement sounds like the setup for an eccentric sitcom: the amnesiac man and his AI best friend living together as they try to find meaning in their new lives on Earth. Her additional presence cements the concept even further, adding the punchline of “and their alien friend” to the equation. It would be the underdog new show on a network channel, cancelled after one season because it turns out that returning to Earth after experiencing multiple traumas isn’t the back-to-back laughs that the audience expects--but as far as the real-life version of events goes, Doug and Hera seem to be muddling through everything just fine.

“Anyway, I’m assuming you haven’t had dinner yet, so if you want anything to eat...” Doug gestures toward the kitchen. “I’m still not that great at cooking, so unless you want something from the freezer we could order pizza or something. Maybe save some for Renée so she doesn’t have to worry about making anything when she gets home.”

“Pizza sounds amazing,” says Isabel. Then, upon fully realizing what Doug has said, she sits up sharply from where she has been lounging on the couch. “Wait. Min-- _Renée_ is staying here?” She catches herself in how she refers to her, still occasionally stuck in the old habit of calling everyone by their surnames no matter how hard she trains herself otherwise.

“Yeah, she’s been here for… How long has it been now, Hera? A couple of weeks?”

“Fifteen days,” Hera supplies.

“I told her she could stay as long as she needs while she sorts out everything with--” Doug breaks off, frowning in an expression of conscientious concern that would not have been a direct priority for the person he used to be. “Hang on. She didn’t tell you she’d be here?”

“No,” replies Isabel. The last time she’d talked Renée was almost a week ago, via a few hurried texts back and forth in which she had mentioned that she would soon be trading the warm beaches of vacation for the suburbs and the closest thing that she can get to a normal life. “This is all news to me.”

“It’s not a problem, is it?” Hera asks. “There are two spare bedrooms, so there will be plenty of room for both of you.”

“No, of course not. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” Curiosity nags at her about the exact circumstances that have led Renée to make the transition from frequent visits to indefinite residence, but she files her questions away to ask Renée herself rather than hearing the secondhand story. “So,” she continues with a prompt change in subject, “are we ordering that pizza or what?”

Half an hour later, Isabel has deposited her suitcase upstairs in the unoccupied spare bedroom and is scarfing down slices of pizza at the kitchen table. To her horror, Doug has retained his taste for pineapple and ham pizza even after being left as a blank slate of a person. Some things really do never change, she supposes, and perhaps a certain part of the original Doug Eiffel and his preferences remains innate within him. It’s comforting to be able to focus on what is the same about him rather than dwelling on the differences. She has learned that much from her own personal crisis of having to redefine her sense of identity.

“You _have_ to be making that up,” Doug says when their plates are empty and they are deep in conversation about what she has done during her extended vacation. “That sounds like something straight out of… straight out of… Damn it, I can’t think of anything that I’ve watched lately that it sounds like, but I’m sure it sounds like _something_.”

“You’ve been watching nothing but _The Great British Bake-Off_ for the past three days,” Hera points out. “I’d be surprised if anything about that story reminded you of that.”

“Hey, you love _The Great British Bake-Off_ ,” Doug retorts.

“Yeah, I do love it,” says Hera with an unmistakable smile in her voice.

Before they can say anything else, the front door opens, followed by footsteps in the hall that precede Renée’s appearance in the kitchen. Isabel still isn’t used to seeing her removed from the context of a deep-space mission, with her regulation mission attire exchanged for standard office work clothing and her hair now cut short instead of neatly pulled back. Being on the solid ground of Earth also emphasizes how she is shorter than Isabel had perceived her to be in zero-gravity, and although she isn’t much shorter than the average height for a woman, Isabel still has a good four or five inches on her. It’s strange how a detail like that had gone mostly unnoticed during the initial time that they knew each other, when Isabel’s attention was more focused upon literally floating from one disaster to the next.

“Doug, did you order pizza?” Renée asks. “You bought groceries yesterday. You should have plenty to eat.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to totally embarrass myself in front of Isabel by, you know, accidentally setting dinner on fire or something,” Doug replies. “And besides, we made sure to leave you some so that you don’t have to make anything for yourself tonight. Win-win, I think.”

At the mention of Isabel’s name, Renée gives a start, as if she has only just noticed her presence. “Oh my God, you’re--”

She breaks off before finishing her statement, but Isabel assumes that it would have ended with “here” or perhaps “back.” She rises to her feet to meet Renée as she approaches the kitchen table. A moment of uncertainty passes between them before they mutually move into an embrace, holding each other tightly as if to make up for the time that they have spent apart. Renée may be all-business and no-nonsense in most aspects of her life, but Isabel has learned by now that she gives perhaps surprisingly good hugs. When she hears the quiet, relieved exhale of Renée’s breath and feels the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest that comes with it, she realizes that this is the closest intimate contact that she has had with another person in months.

“I take it you missed me,” Isabel says after they have pulled away from each other.

“Oh, just a little,” replies Renée. “How was your vacation?”

“Good. Relaxing. Exactly what I needed, to be honest, but I’m glad to be back.” Her eyes follow Renée as she sits down at the table to join her and Doug. “And speaking of which, apparently you’re living here now and you never thought to mention it to me? What’s the story there? I thought you had settled back in with your husband.”

Renée’s mouth sets itself into a thin line at her words. “We’re… taking some time apart,” she says. “I know that sounds ridiculous when we were already apart for more than three years. But we both agreed it’s for the best, at least until we figure some things out on our own. And I’ve spent enough time in this house since Doug and Hera moved in that it just made sense to come here.”

Her words contain a certain amount of unspoken complications, but Isabel does not press her for additional details. She can fill in most of the blanks herself, anyway. The dual struggles of Renée’s return to Earth after enduring what can be easily classified as multiple traumas and her husband’s discovery that his supposedly dead wife has come back from deep space very much alive are enough to put a strain on any marriage. Isabel would be extremely surprised if Renée had settled back into her old life with no difficulties, sliding into the space she left behind as if she was never gone. Renée may physically be the same person who departed from Earth at the start of the Hephaestus mission, but Isabel knows that her time in space has left her a changed woman in many ways.

“Oh,” is all Isabel can say in response. “Are you… Is everything okay?” It’s a foolish question, because taking a period of separation from your spouse spells out something far different from “okay,” but she cannot take back the words now.

“I’m dealing with it,” Renée replies with an air of finality. “Besides, I know these two enjoy the company. _Someone_ has to make sure they do something other than sitting around watching TV all day.”

“Hey, we can’t all have jobs like you do,” Doug says through a mouthful of pizza from the new slice that he has taken from the box. “Besides, I still have a lot to learn about--well, _everything_. This is a very important educational period for me, you know.”

“And there’s not much else _I_ can do when I’m more-or-less tied to this house unless someone finds a practical way to lug my servers around,” Hera adds.

“How’s work going, by the way?” Isabel asks, cutting across Doug and Hera’s good-natured protests. “You said you got a desk job with NASA?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Renée hesitates, and Hera soon fills the space with her own words.

“She hates it.”

“I don’t _hate_ it, Hera,” says Renée. “It’s just been an adjustment, having a job where everything isn’t going wrong multiple times a day. And working in a relatively low-stress environment is probably the best thing for me right now, anyway.” Her statement sounds as if she is trying to convince herself as much as she is everyone else. “It may not be the job I had in mind when I first applied to work at NASA years ago, and it’s not quite as hands-on as I’d like, but it’s still something.”

Isabel makes a murmur of assent. “At least you’ve been keeping busy.” She has not given much thought as to what she will do for employment now that she has returned to the real world. The compensation money from Goddard is more than enough to keep her going for a while, and so any job she takes will likely be more to stave off boredom than anything else.

“Yeah. Keeping busy is definitely something I need right now.” Renée breathes out a quiet sigh before continuing onward. “Well, I’m going to go change clothes before I eat. We can finish catching up then.”

Isabel frowns at her retreating back as she leaves the kitchen and makes a path for the stairs. “Nice to see she’s still good at pretending everything’s fine,” she says after Renée is out of earshot.

“It’s not really any of our business,” Hera replies. “Whatever problems she’s having with her husband are hers to deal with. If she needs our help, she’ll ask for it.”

Isabel holds back her skeptical scoff and the accompanying response of _I’ll believe that when I see it_ , because by now she is deeply familiar with how Renée Minkowski is a world champion in suppressing complicated emotions. Isabel isn’t one to talk, of course, considering how much she keeps close to her heart, sealed off to everyone around her. But she is also aware that there needs to be a breaking point eventually, and she hopes that when Renée reaches hers she will know that she is not alone.

“I’m glad you’re looking out for her, though,” says Doug. “I try, but… It’s hard, you know? She’s done so much for me since we came back, but she’s not really good at letting me return the favor. It’s good that she has friends like you who aren’t afraid to use the sledgehammer approach every now and then.”

Isabel’s thoughts linger on his use of the word “friend.” She and Renée _are_ friends--that much has been clear since somewhere between the “saving her life and almost dying in the process” and “we’re all probably going to die here on this rotting space station so we might as well start getting along” parts of their time together. She would be lying, however, if she claimed that there hadn’t once been the brief spark of attraction. She’d dismissed the feeling as quickly as it came, because it’s not like a deep-space mission is the best place to find a girlfriend and Renée being married makes her very much unavailable, but that doesn’t stop her from occasionally wondering what could have been. For now, their friendship is enough, and it is something that not even a bullet in the stomach can destroy even if they’ve never talked about the whisper of guilt in Isabel’s mind that reminds her of what Cutter forced her to do.

“Yeah, well. It’s been a long, hard trip for all of us,” she says. “I’m not going to get the sledgehammer out just yet.”

The inescapable reminder of how no one in this house has experienced anything resembling a normal life over the past few years fades away as the evening moves forward. It almost feels like an ordinary gathering between friends, minus one of them not having a physical body, when they assemble in the living room for one of Doug’s apparently frequent movie nights (“Hmm, have you seen _Groundhog Day_ yet?” Isabel suggests when he lets her choose what they watch, knowing that he will probably appreciate seeing a film made prior to 2013 that would have been new to him even without the memory wipe). She isn’t used to having these quiet, almost _fun_ moments with this particular Hephaestus crew. A casual movie night like this belongs more to her first mission, and she still fondly remembers wrangling her crew together for the first of what would become many, _many_ viewings of _Home Alone 2_ , the only movie that Goddard saw fit to provide the station with. Now instead of Selberg’s muttered complaints about wastes of time and Lambert’s incessant overanalysis of every plot hole, she has Doug throwing popcorn at Hera’s nearest camera whenever she questions the interior logic of time loops and the quiet amusement of Renée’s laughter.

“You know, I’m glad that Phil figured out how to be a better person in the end,” Doug says after the movie has finished. “I think most people forced to live the same day over and over would have kept doing whatever the hell they wanted because there wouldn’t be any consequences.”

“Trust me, if you’re stuck in a time loop you’re going to do everything you can to get out of there,” replies Isabel. “Even if it means having to confront some uncomfortable truths.”

“Or destroying a flight computer,” Hera adds.

Doug frowns. “Is that referencing another weird thing that happened in space that you haven’t told me about yet?”

“Well, there’s a reason why I said ‘Trust me’ like it’s something I have personal experience with,” says Isabel.

“Jesus Christ,” Doug murmurs to himself. “By this point you guys could just be making shit up and I’d never even bother questioning it because the real stuff is just that bonkers.”

Renée rises from her position on the couch. “Well, I’m heading to bed,” she says. “I’ll see you all in the morning. Or afternoon, considering how late _some people_ sleep on Saturdays.” She casts a pointed look at Doug.

“Hey, what can I say?” Doug replies with an innocent shrug. “Saturday morning cartoons just don’t seem to be as good now compared to the ones that Other Doug would have been watching.”

Rather than scowling in irritation at his remark, Renée instead gives a small smile. The expression seems almost sad, as she undoubtedly remembers the man who has been designated as “Other Doug.” “Goodnight, everyone,” she says. “Sleep well.”

“Night,” Isabel echoes her. She doesn’t comment on how the last sentiment is probably wishful thinking on Renée’s part. A good night’s sleep has eluded Isabel for multiple years now, and returning to Earth has not changed anything on that front.

“What about you?” Doug asks after Renée has left. “Hera and I are probably going to fire up the Nintendo 64 that I got off Ebay and play some Mario. She’s a great backseat gamer even though she doesn’t have any thumbs to help me out.”

Isabel takes note of the game system in question, which rests on one of the shelves near the TV. “Why the hell did you get a Nintendo 64?” she replies. “You couldn’t have gotten something a _little_ more modern? That thing’s like twenty years old by now.”

“You missed my Super Nintendo phase,” Doug says. “Gotta play all the classics first before diving into the newer stuff, right?”

“Well, as entertaining as I’m sure it would be to watch Hera guide you through a video game, I should probably start unpacking my stuff.” Isabel stands up from the couch and glances at the clock on the wall. It reads just past ten-thirty, which is far too early for her to go to bed. “You two have fun, though.”

“We’ll be here if you change your mind,” Doug says.

Isabel leaves the living room and ascends the stairs to the bedroom that will be hers for however long she decides to stay in this house. The room isn’t huge (although anything seems big compared to the tiny crew quarters on the Hephaestus), and it is already furnished with the basics: a desk and bookshelf in the corner, a dresser lined up against the wall, and a small table next to the bed. The bed itself is neatly made with fresh sheets and a warm blanket, which she suspects is Renée’s doing. Despite the subtle changes that have manifested themselves in Doug 2.0, she doubts that he has reached the level of being such a meticulous host.

It does not take her long to unpack, because spending so long on a space station with limited resources has taught her a lot about living without many possessions. After she has finished, she flops back onto the bed for a moment of rest, taking in the environment of the room around her. This is her home, she supposes, at least for now. Everything has been so transitory and temporary since her return to Earth, and it feels strange to have a place to return to for the foreseeable future. If nothing else, the friends that she has here will help make this place feel like home as she leaves behind the anonymity of being in a place where no one knows her.

The soft sound of a knock against the doorframe pulls her out of her thoughts. Renée stands in the doorway, dressed for bed in a pair of comfortable shorts and a well-worn T-shirt featuring the Air Force insignia. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re settling in okay,” she says. “Sorry there’s not much here beyond the essentials. I think you’re the first person to use this room, actually, unless Doug’s had other guests I don’t know about.”

“Eh, I’m used to minimalist decor by now,” Isabel replies. “And pretty much anything beats the tiny-ass crew quarters we had on the Hephaestus.”

“That’s for sure,” agrees Renée. “Anyway, if you need anything else, just let Hera know. She’ll probably be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence passes between them as Renée lingers in the doorway, her arm resting casually against the frame of the door. Her eyes remain upon Isabel with a frown creasing the space between her eyebrows, as if she is debating whether to say something else. It’s an expression that Isabel is accustomed to seeing from her whenever she has something on her mind that she doesn’t want to talk about, and Isabel finds it no less frustrating on Earth than she did in space. She lets it go for now, not wanting to press an issue that may not be important at all.

“Well, um… I guess this is goodnight,” Renée says. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, you too,” Isabel replies. “Goodnight.” And then, softer, after Renée’s footsteps have receded down the hallway, “Goodnight.”


	2. Chapter 2

The hardest part of the long nights that Isabel faces alone is finding something to keep her busy when she cannot sleep. An idle mind often invites the most unpleasant of thoughts, and she has no interest in entertaining her standard repertoire of existentially troubling fears and doubts night after night. When she was on the Hephaestus it was easy to occupy herself with the myriad tasks necessary to keep a run-down space station in orbit, disguising insomnia as industriousness as she worked through the hours arbitrarily designated as nighttime. Her new life on Earth does not give her similar opportunities, however, and so she is frequently left at a loss.

But having more waking hours in her day _does_ have its benefits, and so she finds herself frequently indulging in lengthy stretches of media consumption--movies, TV shows, books, music. She does not face the complete crash course in pop culture that Doug has been diving into, but spending nearly seven years away from Earth leaves her with a lot of media to catch up on. With so much at her fingertips via a computer and an internet connection, it’s easy to fall down that rabbit hole and crawl out of it hours later with a sense of no time having passed. Her first night back with the rest of the Hephaestus crew proves to be no exception on that front, as she lies comfortably on her bed and lets Netflix be her entertainment for the evening.

Shortly before one A.M., her phone buzzes against the bedside table with the vibration of an incoming call. She frowns, pausing the playback on her laptop and reaching blindly for her phone. Nobody should be calling her at this hour, especially because she has maintained a small social circle since returning to Earth. When she checks the phone’s screen to find the name _Daniel Jacobi_ staring back at her, her confusion does not fade.

“Jesus Christ, Jacobi, do you know what time it is?” she says into the phone with no initial greeting. Although she has made the transition to “Doug” and “Renée” fairly easily, she and Jacobi have not yet been able to bring themselves to call each other by their first names. “You can’t even blame time zones now that I’m not in vacation mode anymore.”

“Yeah, but you’re still awake, aren’t you?” Jacobi points out. “And I know you’re just _dying_ to hear the latest insider report on the Goddard shitshow.”

Isabel sighs. “Yeah, okay, hit me.” The ongoing news stories about the troubles that have befallen Goddard Futuristics in the aftermath of the Hephaestus crew’s return do not tell the whole story, after all, especially because everything about making contact with alien life has been kept out of the public reports. With Jacobi having remained in Cape Canaveral to help clean up the mess caused by the corporation to which he had until recently devoted his life, he functions as a much more reliable source of information about the smoldering wreck that Goddard has become.

“Well, the feds have finally stopped swarming the place 24/7, so that’s been nice. Security’s still a lot tighter than it used to be, but I’m getting a sense of how to bypass most of the annoying stuff. So if we’re talking about the best opening for some, uh, getting even, I think now is the time to make some progress on that.”

Isabel shifts her position on the bed, moving her laptop aside so that she can lie back against the pillows. “Hmm. Tell me more.”

“Like I said, I’ve been keeping an eye on the new security systems, and I know the corporate building like the back of my hand,” Jacobi replies. “Give it a few weeks and we can probably figure out a way to get you in and out and cause as much mayhem as you want. I’ll even provide the supplies for you.”

“It can’t be that easy,” says Isabel. “I mean, this is still one of the top tech companies in the world. I’m not going in there blind, even if I _do_ have some of your most destructive toys to back me up.”

“Who said anything about going in blind?” Jacobi asks. “You don’t spend as much time as I did as a black-ops demolitions expert without being able to find the weaknesses in a building’s layout pretty easily. I’ve got some maps of the corporate building that I’ve marked with some ideas. If you just hold on for one minute…” There’s a pause on the other end of the call. “There. Check your email, I just sent them to you.”

Isabel moves her laptop onto her lap and opens her inbox. A new message appears on the screen, sent from Jacobi’s personal email address rather than a work one connected to Goddard. It contains no subject line or any text in the body of message except for five image attachments. “Okay, got them.” She opens one of the images to investigate its contents. Black lines mark the layout of the Goddard Futuristics corporate building, accompanied by Jacobi’s own additions of arrows, circles, and scribbled notes. “Wow, your handwriting is atrocious,” she says, zooming in on one of his notes to better decipher it.

Jacobi groans. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’ll manage. Look them over and let me know what you think.”

“Sure. I’ll even make sure to call you back in the dead of night for maximum secret revenge mission points.” Isabel hesitates before adding, “You sure you don’t want to come up here and visit sometime? It’ll be the first time all of us have been together after some of us went our separate ways for a while.” She does not place any passive-aggressive emphasis on “some of us,” because she is as equally guilty as Jacobi is when it comes to stepping away from their ragtag group of deep-space survivors for a period of personal escape. It’s still strange for her to think of Jacobi as one of her people after the fraught circumstances that have surrounded most of their time together, but there’s nothing like teaming up against an unspeakably dangerous enemy to forge a friendship between people.

“No, I…” A quiet breath comes through the phone’s speaker. “I still have some things I need to take care of here. But make sure you let Minkowski know that she still owes me that twenty bucks.”

Isabel laughs. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that. I’ll talk to you later, then?”

“Sure thing.”

After the call ends, Isabel sets her phone aside and returns her attention to the files that Jacobi has sent her. He certainly knows his stuff when it comes to breaking and entering, along with which types of explosives are the best way to make a statement without embarking on a suicide mission. Most people would be content to let the destruction of Goddard’s leadership and the exposure of its misdeeds be enough of a comeuppance for the company’s actions, but Isabel has never been one to half-ass something as important as revenge. She will not be satisfied until at least a small part of Goddard Futuristics headquarters is reduced to rubble.

She dozes off a few hours later, having cast the maps and diagrams aside in favor of tonight’s TV binge that eventually lulls her to sleep. Her nightmares have been hit and miss in their intensity since returning to Earth, and for every night that she jerks awake in a cold sweat from the horrifying events that her slumbering mind has shown her, she also has nights like this during which she faces only vague images. Tonight she drifts through space, alone and untethered, with nothing to accompany her but the sound of her breath and the infinite emptiness that surrounds her. The images become faded and out of focus when she wakes up, and she cannot decide whether the dream has been unsettling or strangely soothing. Whichever it is, she wonders if the dream is a sign of the void of deep space calling her home, reminding her of where her current body was born and where her original self ceased to exist.

She reaches for her phone to check the time. The screen reads a little after eight o’clock--not the ideal time to be awake on a lazy Saturday morning, but certainly within the range of acceptability. Four hours of sleep qualifies as decent rest for her as well, especially when her alien-created body comes with the design flaw of not requiring as much sleep as a normal human does. She has perhaps foolishly hoped that being on Earth would diminish some of the side effects that come with her reborn existence, now that she is farther away from her point of origin, but it turns out that no amount of distance can change the reality that she now lives with.

“Good morning, Capta--” The cheerful sound of Hera’s voice breaks off into a brief stuttering static, distinct from her old glitches. “Good morning, _Isabel_ ,” she corrects herself. She says Isabel’s name slowly and deliberately, as if she has not yet grown accustomed to the particular combination of syllables in her vocal program. “Whew. Okay. That workaround in my programming is definitely getting easier.”

“Morning, Hera.” Isabel sits up in bed, stretching her limbs long with a groan before collapsing back onto the mattress. “Anything of earth-shattering importance to report?”

“Nope. Things are usually pretty quiet around here.” After a moment’s hesitation, Hera adds, “What was that phone conversation that you had with Jacobi earlier?”

“What, you weren’t able to wiretap into it?” Isabel asks.

“No. Believe it or not, I’m not connected to _every_ system in this house. Especially not people’s phones.”

“Right. Sorry.” Isabel savors a final moment of rest before pushing the covers aside and swinging her feet over the side of the bed to stand up. “Anyway, it was nothing. Just us trying to get some closure with Goddard.”

“I thought the company is already more or less finished,” says Hera. “Or at least the Special Projects division is. Shouldn't that be enough closure for you, knowing that no one else will ever have to go through what we did?”

“Yeah, but sometimes you just need to do something to make things a little more personal.” Isabel rummages through the drawers that now contain her clothes and pulls out something to put on later. “It’s like how you made sure you talked to Pryce after everything that happened. You didn’t _need_ to do it, because the person that she used to be was already gone, but you wanted to have the extra closure anyway.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can understand that,” Hera replies. “Just don’t do anything _too_ illegal, okay?”

Isabel laughs. “Says the person who routinely goes against her programming. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Jacobi knows what he’s doing.”

Hera makes a quiet noise of skepticism, but she does not say anything further on the matter. “Well, Renée’s downstairs in the kitchen if you want some more company. Doug probably won’t be up for a couple of hours. He still loves to sleep in, unfortunately.”

“Okay.” Isabel crosses the room and stops at the door before turning back to face the camera and speaker that connects Hera to the room. “You know, I’ve kind of missed these morning reports,” she says. “It’s nice to have you around again, Hera.”

“You too, Cap--Isabel.”

She goes through the closest thing she has to a morning routine, taking a shower and throwing on the jeans and T-shirt that she laid out earlier. She then heads downstairs, following the sound of music to the kitchen, where Renée has hooked up her phone to a set of speakers while she stands at the stove making breakfast. As she cracks an egg into the frying pan, she hums along with the song playing, unaware of Isabel’s presence until she hears her footfalls against the tile of the kitchen floor.

“Good morning,” Renée greets her. “Did you sleep well?”

“By my standards? Sure,” says Isabel. “Got any coffee around here, or do I have to make a Starbucks run?”

“Coffee maker’s over there.” Renée nods to the machine in question, positioned next to the toaster. “I’m making some scrambled eggs right now, if you want me to make some for you too.”

“Yeah, thanks. That sounds amazing.”

She makes a cup of coffee and breathes in the comforting scent as she waits for it to cool. There’s something strangely domestic about the scene as she leans against the counter and watches Renée cook. The quiet morning with no sense of urgency or impending doom surrounding it almost feels like something out of a dream, but Isabel’s dreams would never stray into such idyllic territory.

“What are you listening to?” she asks Renée. She turns her attention more fully to the music as she takes her first cautious sip from her mug. “Wait, is this from that musical with the founding fathers that everyone went so crazy for?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe a show achieved such widespread popularity and I wasn’t here for it. I feel like I’m late to the party.” Renée pokes at the eggs in the pan with her spatula. “Hopefully I’ll be able to catch a touring performance eventually. I doubt I’ll be able to get tickets to see it in New York anytime soon.”

Isabel doesn’t know much about musicals beyond what she picks up from cultural osmosis, but it’s endearing to hear Renée speak passionately about something she cares about. “Well, if you ever do make it to the city and want some pointers, you’re looking at someone born and raised in Brooklyn. I know my way around pretty well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After the eggs have finished cooking and Isabel has made some toast to go with them, she takes the plate that Renée offers her and finds a place at the kitchen table. The sound of utensils scraping against plates and the continued background noise of the music fills the lull that has entered their conversation. Isabel is glad to have the distraction of the background music as she eats ravenously in an attempt to take her mind off the awkwardness of the silence between them.

“So have you had a chance to visit your family at all since we came back to Earth?” Renée asks finally.

“Yeah.” Isabel stabs a bite of eggs with her fork and brings it to her mouth. “I swung by my parents’ place for a few days after we were free to leave Canaveral,” she adds after swallowing. “Just so they could see for themselves that I’m still alive. Well, in a manner of speaking.”

“It must have been nice to see them again,” says Renée. “You’d been away from home longer than any of the rest of us, after all.”

“I don’t know. It was kind of weird,” Isabel replies. “There’s no good way to say ‘Surprise! Your daughter really is dead after flying a homemade shuttle into a star, and now you’re stuck with an alien who looks and acts exactly like her.’ So I left that part out. But it’s still not the easiest thing in the world to face your parents when they have no idea what you actually are. It felt dishonest, in a way.”

Renée gives a hum of sympathy. “Yeah. I can imagine.”

“What about you?” Isabel takes a sip of coffee from her mug. “Have you been in touch with your family at all?”

“My dad passed away a few years before I got assigned to the Hephaestus,” says Renée. “He was an astrophysicist, so I’m sure he would have loved to hear that I really did make it to space. He always told me that I would, one day. My mom retired a couple of years ago and is living in France right now. I haven’t had a chance to visit her yet, but I try to talk to her at least somewhat regularly. And then…” She hesitates, pushing the few remaining forkfuls of eggs around on her plate before continuing onward. “You’ve probably already figured out that things with Dominik haven’t exactly been smooth sailing since I’ve been back. Don’t get me wrong, it was so good to finally see him again, but… Well, a lot has changed. _We’ve_ changed.”

She has _that_ look on her face again, the one that suggests that she has something on her mind that she does not want to say. Isabel notes her use of the past tense, “it _was_ so good to finally see him again,” as if at some point in time she stopped feeling good about reuniting with her husband. A dozen questions surface in Isabel’s mind about what could have caused that change, but although they hover on the tip of her tongue she does not vocalize them.

“I guess coming back from the dead isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” she says instead. “They don’t tell you about all of the emotional complications when they make you fill out all those forms and paperwork to make you a functioning member of society again.”

“No, they definitely don’t,” Renée replies. She finishes the last of the eggs on her plate and swallows them with a sip of orange juice. “So,” she continues in a change of subject. “What are your plans for today?”

“I dunno. I’ll probably go out and get some groceries so I don’t end up eating all of your food.” Doug has assured her that he doesn’t expect her to pay any type of rent while she stays with him, but Isabel is still determined to contribute however she can to their corner of survival in the real world. “I might go for a run later too. It won’t be the runs on the beach that I did when I was on vacation, but…”

“Hmm. I might join you on that last part, if you don’t mind the company,” says Renée. “It’s been so nice to be able to run without having to literally strap myself to a treadmill.”

“As long as you can keep up with me,” Isabel teases. “I’d hate to wear you out.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got pretty good stamina.”

The trace of a smile crosses Renée’s lips. Isabel has missed these rare moments when they can share these light-hearted, teasing comments that would almost seem flirtatious if she didn’t know better than to go down that complicated road. Their last few words to each other may be a masterpiece in mixed signals when it comes to not flirting, but they at least provide a distraction from the otherwise emotional heaviness that surrounds readjusting to life on Earth.

Renée clears her throat with a quiet sound and rises from the table, finding an excuse to look away from Isabel as if she has just now realized the accidental suggestive turn that their conversation has taken. Whether she is uncomfortable with or merely embarrassed by their exchange remains a question for another day. Isabel does not want to mire herself in _that_ drama, as if she and Renée are a couple of teenagers instead of grown-ass adults. And Renée is a _married_ grown-ass adult, she reminds herself. No amount of possibly flirtatious statements and current complications in her relationship with her husband will change that.

She watches Renée rinse her plate at the sink as the music continues to fill the silence between them. _Has_ her initial spark of attraction truly faded, she wonders? Or has it merely lain dormant, waiting for an opportunity when she is no longer preoccupied with a deep-space mission before manifesting itself again? Either way, Isabel cannot entertain the idea right now. The whole point of these last few months has been to focus on herself, inching her way toward feeling comfortable in her alien skin on Earth. She is nowhere near a place in her life where she should be thinking about relationships, and so she tucks away the attraction that has overcome her, returning it to the corner of the mind where it has stayed hidden until now.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she says to Renée as she brings her plate to the sink. “Maybe I’ll return the favor sometime. I make pretty awesome omelettes.”

“Yeah, I might have to take you up on that.” Renée turns to face her, and their eyes meet briefly. “You’ll, um… You’ll let me know when you’re going out for that run?”

“Sure thing.”

Isabel rinses her plate and places it in the dishwasher. With breakfast taken care of, she mentally maps out the rest of her morning. She does not want to head out to the grocery store just yet, and her run can wait until the early afternoon. She therefore goes upstairs to retrieve her laptop so that she catch up on what she has missed in the world overnight, perhaps while lounging on the couch in the living room and finishing her coffee while Renée’s musicals playlist continues to play in the background.

“What was that about?” Hera asks once Isabel is in the relative privacy of her bedroom.

She tucks her closed laptop under her arm. “What was what about?”

“You and Renée were being kind of, um… flirty?” Hera hesitates at the end of her question as if she is unsure whether she has made an accurate observation.

“Oh, for the love of…” Isabel mutters in irritation. If an AI has picked up on possible romantic tension between her and Renée, then she really is in trouble. “Have you and Doug been watching too many rom-coms on your movie nights or something?”

“No, not _too_ many,” replies Hera. “But it’s been really eye-opening to see how romance is portrayed in media. I don’t have much of a personal perspective on it, after all.”

Isabel groans. “That’s not the point. She and I weren’t flirting, okay? We were just teasing each other a little. I don’t have time to focus on something like that when…” She trails off, on the verge of saying “there’s a mission to take care of” out of habit even though it has been months since she has been in a position where the mission was paramount above all else. “Anyway, it was nothing. You’re reading too much into things.”

The distinct snicker of laughter comes through the speaker, as if Hera is stifling her amusement behind her digital hands. At Isabel’s raised eyebrows, she adds, “Sorry, it’s just that you… Well, never mind. Maybe you’re right.”

“Damn straight, I’m right,” Isabel says. As long as Renée is married and she herself has personal struggles to work through, there _can’t_ be anything between them beyond their established friendship that is built upon mutual respect and the experiences they have shared. She would be an utter fool to think otherwise.

But perhaps she is a fool after all, because as she leaves her bedroom and returns downstairs, the attraction that she has shut away sneaks its way through her thoughts, silently and surreptitiously.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning:** The beginning of this chapter contains intense and upsetting nightmare imagery (including forced suicide), along with depictions of psychological distress.

Isabel is no stranger to nightmares, not since her first mission on the Hephaestus when her growing sense of paranoia and despair began to manifest itself in restless nights and terrifying dreams. There are some dreams that she is never prepared for, however, and they color the rest of her day with lingering fear that makes her jump at shadows and hear whispers of people who are not there. They remind her that although she has nearly eight light years of spatial distance from what happened on the Hephaestus, she is nowhere close to achieving emotional distance from the traumas and tragedies.

Her nightmares have often held common themes since waking up in her current alien body, and they have shifted over time to match to the latest terrors in her waking life. What started as dying alone in space and falling into the burning mass of Wolf 359 eventually transformed into being under the aliens’ control, her hands and eyes glowing with power as they decide they have no further use for the rest of her crew. Now upon returning to Earth the dreams have taken a third evolution, and instead of an unseen alien presence pulling her strings she hears Cutter’s voice as he uses the power of psi-wave radiation to make her his puppet. His words snake through her mind, whispering their will as his control overrides her own desires.

“Put Renée out of her misery,” he commands her, just as he had done in reality when Renée had floated in front of her with blood spreading across the front of her shirt from the bullet wound in her stomach. Isabel’s hands tremble against the gun in her grip as she fights against his order with every ounce of her strength until she gives in and pulls the trigger. The bullet tears its way through Renée’s skull, leaving a mess of blood and shattered bone in its wake. The sight should horrify her, but she feels nothing but the pull of thoughts that are not her own as the last shred of her free will melts away.

“It looks like we were right, Marcus,” comes the sound of Pryce’s voice, even though she had not been present in the memory that the dream reflects. “We really _can_ use psi-waves to control the duplicates.” She regards Isabel with the terrifying gaze of her cybernetic eyes. “Now, let’s see what else we can make her do. You never _did_ let me run my experiments on her earlier.”

With a snap of Pryce’s fingers, Isabel feels the cold metal of the gun’s barrel against her temple. It presses against her skin, refusing to waver despite her internal protest.

“Don’t worry, Isabel,” Cutter assures her. “You’ll bounce right back in no time. It’s not like you haven’t survived getting shot in the head before, after all. Now, be a good girl and pull the trigger.”

Her finger closes around the trigger in obedience. A rush of pure terror flows through her, and the scream that wants to tear its way out of her throat does not break free. Instead, there is nothing but the shackles of control that make her bend to another’s will, drowning out all of her other thoughts as her finger twitches to carry out the command.

The dream vanishes as she wakes with a start, her chest heaving and her breaths coming hard and fast. Fear and adrenaline courses through her veins, and she thrashes against the blankets that have tangled themselves around her legs. An immediate instinct to flee overcomes her as she fights against the constriction that tightens her lungs and heart until she feels like nothing can come out. Before her brain can process her body’s movement she is on her feet, standing with one hand on the doorknob, and the lack of conscious thought that has brought her here reignites the terror within her. She sinks to the floor, taking in gulping breaths of air as if she has previously been drowning. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as her body folds in on itself with trembling sobs.

“Isabel?” The soft sound of Hera’s voice breaks through the air. “Isabel, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Isabel lifts her forehead from where it has been pressed against her knees. Hera’s voice helps to ground her to the present moment, and so she gradually pulls her focus to what she can see in the room around her. The topmost blanket on her bed lies disheveled, balled up at the end of the mattress with one of its ends hanging down toward the floor. The water bottle on her bedstand is nearly empty, and she will likely end up refilling it at some point before the morning arrives. Its shape warps the glowing red numbers on the clock behind it, but she can still make out the time (almost 4 A.M., which always seems to be the perfect time for a breakdown). With each observation that she makes, her breathing becomes slower and steadier as she takes each inhale and exhale deliberately, in through her nose and out through her mouth. The constriction in her chest recedes and her mind clears, no longer overcome by fear and panic as she gradually regains herself.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Hera asks.

Isabel nods. She sniffles loudly and scrubs a hand across her eyes, hating the dampness of tears that she finds there. “Fuck,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and heavy in her throat.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” says Hera. “It’s a natural reaction to this kind of thing.”

“What would you know about that?” Isabel snaps back. “Last time I checked, you’re not even _capable_ of crying.”

“I’ve wanted to.”

An uncomfortable pause follows her response, and regret flows through Isabel at the thoughtlessness of her accusation. After everything she had told Doug, back when he had still been Officer Eiffel, about how his words can hurt others, she should be more aware of the implications of her own statements. Emotional distress is no excuse for her to say potentially hurtful things to her friends.

“Sorry,” she says. “I--I didn’t mean it like that. I’m known to be a kind of asshole sometimes, especially at times like this.”

“It’s okay,” Hera assures her. “You probably have bigger things on your mind right now.”

“ _Is_ it okay, though?” Isabel’s body weighs heavy with her exhaustion as she pulls herself to her feet. “It was still a shitty thing for me to say. I shouldn’t have assumed anything about your emotional responses, or whatever.”

“Yeah, well.” Hera’s response carries the slight shrug of easy forgiveness. “As therapeutic as crying apparently is, it looks pretty messy. A lot of things about being human seem messy, actually.”

Isabel wants to laugh at the irony of how she is not actually human at all, but the sound does not come. Instead she only manages a quiet breath of amusement as she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah, that’s for sure,” she agrees.

She returns to her bed, sitting down on the mattress and reaching for the water bottle on the bedside table. She drinks the few gulps of liquid that remain in it, which helps to soothe the dryness in her throat and the dull ache in her head. Even though the burst of panic and adrenaline that overtook her upon waking has faded, its aftereffects will linger throughout the rest of the night as her mind and body recover. At least it’s better than breaking down in the middle of the day, she thinks with a rare shred of optimism. Maybe by the time the sun rises, she will feel a little more like herself and less like a walking mass of unaddressed trauma.

“Has this kind of thing happened a lot since you came back?” Hera inquires.

“It comes and goes,” Isabel replies. “The nightmares are pretty consistent. They always have been. It just depends on how bad they get.” The gun to her head has certainly been a terrifying new dimension to her current iteration of nightmares. Usually this particular dream ends soon after she has shot Renée a second time, firing the killing bullet that she had been able to resist in reality. Her heartbeat quickens at the memory of the helplessness that she had felt with the barrel of her gun pressed against her own forehead. She breathes in and out, steadying herself before she spirals downward again.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” asks Hera.

Isabel shakes her head. “Just having someone here is enough.” That was always the hardest part of being alone on islands and beaches thousands of miles away from anyone who knows her: the lack of a friendly face or voice to reassure her during the difficult nights. As much as she has thrived on isolating herself and hiding away her most vulnerable thoughts, she still falls prey to the human desire for comfort and support. It reminds her that there _is_ something human about her despite her existence as a well-designed simulacrum of her previous self.

“I’d offer you a hug if I could,” says Hera. “But, you know. No arms.”

The gesture of kindness brings the twitch of a smile to Isabel’s lips. She thinks about Rhea, whose soft beeps and chirps of reassurance often comforted her as everything fell apart during her first mission on the Hephaestus. Isabel hadn’t needed the text readout to know what Rhea was telling her during those moments: _Don’t worry, Captain. It’ll be okay._ Just as it had been with Rhea, she cannot hide from Hera’s concern no matter how hard she tries. Hera has seen her at some of her lowest points, when she has been alone and shut away from others, and in that sense perhaps she knows her the best out of anyone in this house.

“Thanks, Hera,” Isabel replies. “You’re a good friend.”

A quiet sound that resembles a surprised breath comes through Hera’s speaker system. “Sorry,” she says. “Sometimes it’s still kind of weird to think of us a friends. We’ve definitely come a long way from when we first met.”

The same could be said for most of the friendships that Isabel has forged during the past two years, especially because she now recognizes that she had not been at her best when she first awoke in this unaware-at-the-time alien body. “Yeah,” she says. “Us non-humans have to stick together, right?”

“Right,” Hera agrees. “Although I think you’re a lot better at being a human than I am. You at least have your memories from before to guide you. I don’t have anything except from what I’ve learned from you guys.”

“I think all of us here would agree that you’re plenty human where it counts.”

Isabel stretches her body long across the bed, draping one of her arms across her forehead as she exhales another calming breath. The room feels far too quiet now that she has calmed down a little, and the silence buzzes in her ears like a persistent annoyance. One thing that she has not expected to be a difficult readjustment for her on Earth is the silence that comes with being alone in a room at night. On the Hephaestus there had always been noise, the hum of machinery and the creaking of the station in its orbit, but now as she lies awake on the cusp between late night and early morning she hears nothing but the occasional car outside. The silence makes her feel like something is about to go wrong, like something waits in the dark to catch her off-guard despite her hyper-alertness. No matter how many times she reminds herself that she is safe and that all of her enemies are now dead in one way or another, she cannot shake the feeling.

“Should I let you go back to sleep?” Hera asks.

“I think it’ll be a while before I fall asleep again,” says Isabel. “I just need some time to myself, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem. I’ll give you some space.”

Hera’s vocal program falls silent as she redirects her attention elsewhere to leave Isabel alone with her thoughts. Isabel lifts the arm that rests against her forehead, studying the shape of her hand in the dim light of the room. Its form is so familiar to her, dark skin stretched over ligaments and bone to create a very human imitation of her original self. But this is _not_ a human hand, because human hands do not glow with a strange energy as they carry out the will of the mysterious alien beings who recreated her. She remembers the first time she’d been afraid of herself, coming out of the haze of alien possession and smelling the acrid stench of burnt flesh as Kepler cradled his arm that bore a perfectly cauterized stump where his hand had once been. It’s not the detail of hurting Kepler that had scared her, especially because he had killed her less than twenty-four hours earlier, but rather the idea of being a puppet to another being who is all too happy to pull her strings. Even on Earth she wonders whether the aliens will take control of her again if they ever find the motivation to do so. Maybe there will _always_ be someone who will not hesitate to disregard her autonomy because of what she is, and that fear is what keeps her awake during these nights when she is plagued by the nightmares that refuse to stop haunting her.

She remembers what she has told Hera mere minutes ago: _You’re plenty human where it counts_. Perhaps she needs to take her own words of reassurance to heart, reminding herself that she has people in her life who _don’t_ care what she is, who embrace her as Isabel Lovelace even though her original self is long gone. _That_ is what matters, and the reassuring thought cycles in her mind with every breath that she takes to ward off the terror and doubt. No one is going to take her humanity from her, regardless of how insistently her dreams try to make her believe it.

Isabel reaches for her phone and plugs some headphones into it. She often misses her old iPod that she’d brought with her on the first Hephaestus mission and has since been lost to who knows where, but she also appreciates the era of streaming music that has surfaced during her absence from Earth. She selects a playlist and puts the headphones in her ears as she reclines back on her bed and lets the music fill her focus. Music has always been an effective distraction for her during these difficult nights, calming her with its beats and lyrics. She closes her eyes and allows herself to float away, and her continued deep breaths keep her thoughts anchored to the words of _safe_ and _alive_ and _human_.

She doesn’t drift off to sleep until after six o’clock, when she hears Renée getting ready to begin her day. The strangely soothing knowledge that she is not the only one awake right now lulls her into slumber, and this time the familiar nightmares do not visit her. Indistinct, uneasy thoughts fill her mind, but none of them take shape into anything concrete. Perhaps she merely does not sleep soundly enough to dream, because she wakes up a couple of hours later to the fully risen sun in her eyes and a bird chirping loudly outside her window.

“Fucking _really_?” she mutters in irritation. She rolls over and buries her face in her pillow before eventually giving up on going back to sleep. Upon getting out of bed, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passes by it. She does not linger upon the reflected image for long, but even a quick glance shows how tired and run-down she looks after the night she has had.

She decides to shower before doing anything else, spending longer than usual under the warm water that pours from the showerhead. She watches the droplets of water roll down the walls of the shower as she mentally rinses off all of the ugly thoughts that stay with her. If only her nightmares and traumatic memories could flow down the drain as easily as the water does, but of course nothing is ever that easy for her after a difficult night.

After she has showered, she resists the urge to stay in her pajamas for the whole day and instead gets properly dressed before heading downstairs. The bottom floor of the house is quiet, with Renée having already left for work and Doug not yet awake, and so the only person to meet her is Hera. Hera’s standard greeting of “Good morning” comes out a little hesitant this time, as if she is unsure whether she should continue to give Isabel space. Isabel responds as cheerfully as she can, putting on a brave face as if Hera hadn’t witnessed her curled up crying on her bedroom floor a few hours earlier.

She starts a cup of coffee and then opens the refrigerator, frowns, and closes it again. She knows that she should make something healthy and filling for breakfast, but she is in no mood to put any effort into cooking this morning. Instead she goes to the freezer and takes out two of Doug’s frozen waffles, thawing them in the toaster before spreading peanut butter on them and sandwiching them together. It’s not the most balanced of breakfasts, but it’s exactly what she needs right now.

With her plate of waffles in one hand and her mug of coffee in the other, Isabel settles down on the couch in the living room and finds something mindless to watch on TV. Even after she has finished her breakfast she does not move from her position, and so that is where Doug finds her when he comes downstairs about an hour later.

“Hey,” he says. “You’re in my spot. Eating breakfast in front of the TV is usually _my_ thing.” He frowns upon turning his full focus upon her. “Whoa. You look, uh… kinda rough. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for noticing.” She then trades her sarcasm for the more genuine response of “I’m fine. _Really_. I just had some trouble sleeping last night.”

“Yeah, I get that. Insomnia su-ucks.” He drags out the last word. “You know I couldn’t sleep for like a solid week after coming back to Earth? It’s like after having spent a few weeks in cryofreeze for the last leg of the trip my brain was like ‘Nope, he doesn’t need sleep, he slept for three weeks straight.’ Things got _weird_ , let me tell you.”

“I’m used to it by now,” Isabel replies. “But you’re right. It really does suck.”

She pauses the playback on the TV and follows him into the kitchen to take care of her dishes. When he opens the freezer, she says, “Oh, I borrowed a couple of your waffles. I made sure to leave some for you, though.”

“Eh, it’s fine.” Doug closes the freezer and turns to the pantry. “Today feels more like a Pop-Tart kind of morning anyway.”

Isabel finishes rinsing her dishes and frowns at the two brightly-frosted Pop-Tarts that he slides into the toaster. “Has anyone told you that you eat like a goddamn child sometimes?”

“Renée, at least a few times a week.” He laughs. “Don’t worry, I still make sure to eat my vegetables. And these are strawberry flavored, so they kind of count as healthy, right?”

“Artificial strawberry flavor doesn’t qualify as a serving of fruit, Doug,” Hera points out. “Why you’re not taking this fresh start as a chance to make better choices about your diet is beyond me.”

“Hey, you’d totally be into junk food too if you had a digestive system,” Doug replies. “And at least I’m staying away from the alcohol and cigarettes this time around.” He perches himself up on the counter while he waits for the ding of the toaster. “So, uh, you’re not busy with anything else right now, right?” he asks Isabel before she leaves the kitchen. “Because I kinda want to ask your opinion on something.”

Isabel leans against the fridge, toying with an unused magnet. “Go ahead.”

“It’s been really great living here with Hera,” he begins. “And now having you and Renée here too. But sometimes I wonder if I should start trying to reconnect with the people who I knew before. Or, well, the people that _he_ knew. The other Doug.”

“You haven’t talked to any of them yet?” Isabel asks. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. Your situation isn’t exactly normal.”

“Yeah.” Doug breathes a sigh of relief at her understanding. “It’s like, _I_ don’t know any of them, but to them I’m the guy who screwed up a _lot_ of shit. And after everything that I’ve been told about what I did, I don’t blame them for having a lot of reasons to hate him. Or, you know, hate _me_. And I think I’ve been doing pretty okay at figuring out who I am since I’ve been back, but it’s like… They’ll probably always see me as that person, you know? So does that mean that part of me still is that guy?”

He speaks with an earnest self-awareness that Isabel rarely heard from him before he lost his memories, except for a few occasions after she had told him off for his insensitivities. His question is not one with an easy answer, however, and even though Isabel is intimately familiar with the identity crisis of trying to be a version of yourself that is long gone, she does not have the answers that he seeks.

“I’m not sure,” she replies. “I don’t think it’s always a question of whether you’re still the person who came before. It’s about being who _you_ think you are and acting according to that. But other people might not be able to see that, so you can’t try to force them to look at you and see that you’re different now. Maybe they’ll come around, or maybe they’ll still never want to see you again. So I guess it’s just a matter of whether you’re ready to face either possibility.”

“Whoa. Trippy stuff for ten in the morning.” Doug laughs. “But seriously. I think I _do_ want to see them again at some point, just so I’m not left wondering. I just need a little more time to sort myself out first. Like what you did when you were away on your vacation, except with less tropical beaches. Probably.”

“Take as much time as you need,” says Isabel. “Trust me, I’ve gone through the whole identity crisis thing too. I know it’s not fun to constantly question yourself and who you are, but it _will_ get better eventually. For all of us.”

The toaster dings, and Doug pushes himself off the counter to retrieve his Pop-Tarts. He exhales sharply at the hot exterior of the pastry but breaks off a piece and eats it anyway. “Mmm. Definitely part of a balanced breakfast,” he says, ignoring Isabel’s eyeroll of good-natured annoyance. “Anyway, thanks for, I dunno, being honest with me. Renée and I have talked about stuff like this before, but sometimes I feel like she handles me with kid gloves, you know? Like I’m too fragile to hear some of the harder stuff. But you don’t really hold back, do you?”

“That’s me,” replies Isabel with a laugh. “Physically incapable of holding back.”

Doug takes another bite of his Pop-Tart. “For the record, though? I don’t think you have to worry about trying to be the Isabel who came before you. I mean, I never knew her, and technically I haven’t known you for very long either. But I know that you’re plenty cool and badass enough to live up to her.”

“Thanks, Doug,” Isabel says. His words echo so strongly of the last thing he’d said to her before losing his memories, when he had given her a heartfelt affirmation of her identity. “You’re pretty great at being you, yourself.”

She soon leaves him to enjoy the rest of his breakfast in peace, with strawberry filling smeared across his lips as he makes himself a cup of coffee. Feeling slightly more energized than she did when she came downstairs, Isabel turns off the TV in the living room and heads upstairs, leaving behind the sound of Doug and Hera’s conversation in the kitchen. She should probably go for a run later, or even just a walk, something that will get her out of the house and into the fresh air. For now, though, she sits at the desk in her room and opens up her laptop. She has a new email from Jacobi that she has not yet read, which likely contains the new set of schematics that he has sent her after receiving her feedback on his initial plans. She opens the message to investigate its contents, because there’s no better way to give a figurative middle finger to her nightmares than to plot revenge against the source of them.

“Are you feeling better?” Hera asks.

“I don’t think ‘better’ is really the right word,” replies Isabel. Her fears and doubts remain, not easily swept away by the nourishment of breakfast and the exchange of heartfelt conversation, but her nightmares have now faded into a fuzzier focus. “But I’m hanging in there. Just gotta get through the day.”

“You’ll make it through,” Hera assures her. “One day at a time, right?”

“Yeah.” Isabel exhales a breath and rolls the tension out of her body. “One day at a time.”


	4. Chapter 4

There’s something comfortingly familiar about planning an infiltration of the Goddard Futuristics headquarters with Jacobi through furtive conversations and whispered schemes that would not have been too out of place on the Hephaestus. As much as she has enjoyed settling into a more domestic lifestyle, she appreciates having a mission to carry out even if their plans do not progress as quickly as she’d like. The real world operates under different laws than the mostly lawless realm of deep space, after all, and so the two of them must move forward with the utmost caution to avoid any trouble. Isabel has endured enough from Goddard already without adding the consequences of some light breaking and entering.

“Have you figured out how to bypass the security system to get into the sealed offices yet?” she asks Jacobi during one of their late-night phone calls. “That’s definitely our biggest obstacle.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so insistent into getting into Cutter’s actual office,” Jacobi replies. “I’m telling you, there are at least a half a dozen other places we can get into that are more accessible but just as effective.”

“Hey, you know me. I’ve always been the ‘go big or go home’ type.” Isabel shifts her position on her bed, lying on her back and pulling her legs inward. “Besides, what’s the point of saying ‘Fuck you’ to Goddard if we’re not leaving a surprise in Cutter’s office? He’s the one to blame for everything.”

Jacobi’s sigh comes through the phone’s speaker. “Well, obviously I can’t ask the higher-ups about it. Those offices are sealed off for a reason. It would look suspicious if I suddenly asked if I could take a look, especially since I used to be SI-5 and was kind of involved in the whole thing. So I, uh… I had to do a little bit of outsourcing.”

“Outsourcing?” Isabel repeats, raising her eyebrows. She runs through her mental list of everyone outside of Goddard whom Jacobi could have contacted about these matters until she realizes who he is talking about. “Oh _hell_ no,” she says. “ _Please_ tell me you didn’t call up Pryce.” Pryce may no longer be the same woman who did unspeakably terrible things to Isabel and her crew, but Isabel is glad to have parted ways with her upon their return to Earth. As far as she is concerned, Pryce is free to live whatever new life she has found as long as it is far away from her and anything related to Goddard Futuristics. “She doesn’t even remember anything about Cutter and Goddard. How is she supposed to help us get past a security system?”

“I guess some tech stuff is like riding a bicycle, you don’t really forget it even after your mind’s been wiped. Or she’s just naturally that smart. Whichever.” Jacobi’s response contains the slight shrug of indifference. “Anyway, I dug up everything I could on the security system and sent it her way to see what she could do. I don’t know how she’s doing it, but she told me that if I give her a week or two she should be able to crack it.”

“I guess I shouldn’t complain, then,” says Isabel. After all, she is no stranger to teaming up with old enemies to accomplish a goal, and Jacobi himself is proof of that. “How’s everything else coming along?”

“Oh, you know I can whip up the devices we need in no time. It’s mostly just a matter of waiting until it all comes together.” At Isabel’s sigh of impatience, he continues with, “Hey, these things can’t happen overnight. Do you know how screwed we’d be if they caught us? Especially because I’m still working for them.”

“But you’re ditching them after all of this is done, right?” Isabel says. It’s not like he much to stay for, not after the deaths of Kepler and Maxwell, and with the Special Projects division shut down his former job is now gone. “What’s even left for you there, anyway?”

Jacobi exhales a breath. “There’s not much, if I’m being honest. But there’s a _lot_ to take care of when half of the bigwigs in your old department are dead and left behind a hell of a mess. I’m definitely not going to stay with them forever, though. Once everything’s in order I’ll be ready to blow this popsicle stand. Literally.”

“Good,” says Isabel. “I want all of us to be completely done with Goddard sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jacobi grumbles. “You just want me to leave sunny Florida and come hang out in D.C. suburbia with you all.”

“What can I say? It’s not the same without your particular brand of sarcastic assholery.” Isabel laughs. “Anything else to fill me in on, or are we all set for a few days?”

“Nope. I’ve given you everything I have for now. I’ll check back in once I know more. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Their call ends, and Isabel sets her phone down on the bedside table. Even though she remains a few weeks away from pulling off her act of revenge, that horizon does not feel as distant as it did when she first arrived here almost a month ago. She enjoys having a goal to work toward as she and Jacobi talk through ideas and consult schematics to devise their ever-evolving route to enter Goddard headquarters and make a mess of what was once Cutter’s office. Isabel has done her part to contribute to Cutter’s death, distracting him long enough for Renée to drive a harpoon into his chest, but she needs to pull off this final act in order to feel fully at peace after everything that Goddard Futuristics has done to her.

“What was that about Pryce?” Hera asks, sounding as if she has been mostly tuning out Isabel’s conversation with Jacobi until hearing the mention of her creator.

“Jacobi got her to help him figure out the security system that we have to bypass to get into the higher-ups’ offices at Goddard headquarters,” replies Isabel. “Apparently she’s still good at tech stuff even without her memories.”

“Just as long a she doesn’t start creating more AIs and screwing them over.” Hera’s response carries a certain degree of skepticism that Isabel does not blame her for. Even though Hera has closed the chapter of her life that was defined and shackled by Pryce’s control, there is always the fear that Pryce’s previous cold and ruthless nature is something innate within her rather than qualities developed through experiences that she has now forgotten. “Anyway, it sounds like things are really starting to come along. Are you planning on telling Doug and Renée about what you’re doing?”

Isabel stretches her body long across her bed and stares up at the ceiling. She hates the sense of guilt that nags in the pit of her stomach at Hera’s words. After all, Isabel is not the only one who has suffered at the hands of Goddard Futuristics, and her revenge does not have to be solely hers to carry out. There is rarely any harm in having strength in numbers, but she does not want to complicate the plan by getting other people involved. Doug would only respond with his usual confusion and frustration at not fully understanding something that would have been meaningful to him before the memory wipe, and Renée… Well, she is uncertain of how Renée would react. She has seen her at her most ruthless, ready to do whatever it takes to protect her crew, but now that they have left deep space behind them she fears that Renée has lost that side of her. As much as Isabel idly entertains the idea of storming Goddard headquarters with Renée at her side, she is not sure whether she would follow her or even approve of her actions.

“No,” she says to Hera. “This is something that Jacobi and I have to do ourselves. You haven’t said anything to them, have you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping your secret safe,” Hera assures her. “But you might want to bring it up eventually. I don’t think Renée will be too happy about you disappearing to Florida without warning.”

Isabel raises her eyebrows at Hera’s specific mention of Renée rather than grouping her with Doug. “We’ll worry about that when it happens,” she says, leaving aside her curiosities about Hera’s response for now. “Right now I’m only concerned with getting this plan off the ground.”

“And afterwards?” Hera asks. “When does this end? Who’s to say that this isn’t going to turn into your private war against Goddard?”

“I don’t know, Hera.” Isabel gives a weary sigh. “But it’s the only way I know how to deal with what happened. Because otherwise I have no idea what to do. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” says Hera. “Just… please remember that you don’t have to do this alone, okay? We’ll all be here for you if you need us.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Besides the occasional late-night planning session with Jacobi and frequent conversations with Hera to stave off her dead-of-night loneliness, the rest of Isabel’s nights are fairly quiet now that she has fully settled into this most recent phase of her life. She has not had any particularly bad nights since the one a couple of weeks prior, and although the nightmares have not stopped she has so far managed to avoid the spiral into panic and existential terror. It’s only a matter of time until it happens again, however, and sometimes she feels like she is a ticking time bomb counting down to her next breakdown. Until then, she only has the long nighttime hours that are interspersed with the bursts of sleep that she manages to get.

Several days later, Isabel finds herself in one of her usual periods of three A.M. restlessness. Her mind is moving too quickly for her to sleep, and she is too bored to settle upon something to watch or read. During nights like this on the Hephaestus she would combat boredom with exercise, using the station’s workout equipment to keep busy, but here she is much more limited in her options. She settles for going downstairs to refill the water bottle that sits on her bedstand and maybe find a late-night snack, if only to give herself something to do.

She navigates through the dark hallway and down the stairs, using her phone as a flashlight. The glow of light coming from the living room catches her attention, and she rounds the corner into the room to see Renée curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled around her. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Renée gives a start with a surprised exclamation of “Isabel! Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry,” Isabel says. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Renée relaxes her defensive posture and reaches for the remote to pause the TV. “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m just getting something to drink.” Isabel goes into the kitchen to fill her water bottle, her bare feet sticking against the tiled floor as she approaches the refrigerator. When she returns to the living room, she takes note of Renée’s comfortable position on the couch and the timestamp on the DVD player that indicates that she is over an hour into whatever she is watching. “Can’t sleep?”

Renée murmurs in assent. “Something like that. I thought putting a movie on would calm my mind a little. As you can probably tell, it didn’t work.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “I have to be up in three hours. By this point I’m going to be exhausted for the rest of the day even if I _do_ fall asleep.”

Isabel joins her on the couch, settling down in the empty space near Renée’s feet. “What are you watching?” she asks. She doesn’t recognize the still image on the screen. Judging by the contents of the handful of DVDs that Renée has brought to the house with her, it’s probably a musical.

“ _Sunday in the Park With George_ ,” replies Renée. “They staged and recorded a production of it with most of the original cast back in the 80s. It’s… It’s one of my comfort movies.” Hesitation surrounds her words, as if she is embarrassed to admit them. “And also one of the soundtracks that I listened to a lot while we were on the Hephaestus. There’s nothing like some Sondheim to remind you of home.”

None of that means much to Isabel, but she listens to every word regardless. “Well, since we both seem to be riding the insomnia train tonight,” she says, “do you mind if I keep you company for a little while?”

“No, it’s fine.” Renée shifts her position on the couch, sitting up more fully and turning her body to face Isabel. “Are you having trouble sleeping too? I know that’s something you’ve struggled with in the past.”

Isabel laughs bitterly. “I’ve pretty much accepted that a full eight hours of sleep is something that just doesn’t happen for me anymore.” At Renée’s frown, she adds, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You know I can function just fine on a few hours of sleep. Perks of being what I am, I guess.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” At least Renée is admitting that something is troubling her, which is a step in the right direction. “I just… I’ve had a _lot_ of sleepless nights since we came back, and most of the sleep aids I’ve tried don’t really help. I was just wondering if there was any point when all of it would, you know, stop.”

“If you ever find out, let me know,” says Isabel. Now it is her turn to frown at Renée’s confession, wondering what she can say to offer even the smallest amount of reassurance. Comforting someone when she often needs just as much comfort herself is a tall order, however, and so the closest thing she can give is an inquiry of “Everything okay?”

Renée sighs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes, would you?”

“You’re awake at three in the morning watching a movie in the living room,” Isabel replies. “Kinda not a shining example of okayness. And I say this as someone who sees three A.M. a lot more often than I probably should.”

Renée hesitates, opening her mouth to speak and then closing it again. Her teeth worry at her lower lip. “Have you talked to anyone about what happened on the Hephaestus?” she asks finally. “A professional, I mean. Not any of us who were there.”

“No.” In the back of her mind, Isabel acknowledges that she should probably seek professional help after everything that she has endured, but it’s laughable to think about the realistic outcome of walking into a therapist’s office and unloading her particular history of paranoia, distrust, and the occasional identity crisis. “I don’t think there are any shrinks out there who are equipped to deal with their patient being an alien in human clothes, and I can’t really be honest about everything I’ve been through without bringing that up. Why do you ask?”

“I… I went to one appointment, a couple of months ago.” Renée pulls her legs in closer to her, hugging them for support. “Dominik convinced me to go. He was worried about me, because he could tell that things were… Well, that they weren’t okay. And I haven’t really been able to talk to him about any of it, because I’m afraid that he won’t be able to understand it. Or that he won’t be able to look at me the same way because of some of the things that I did.” Her voice trembles slightly. “I’m not sure if _I_ expected that going to a therapist would help me, but it didn’t. Not really. I mean, where would I even _begin_ to explain some of the things that happened? And I got so used to burying everything to focus on the mission that I don’t think I know how to talk about it in the first place. So I haven’t been back.”

Isabel makes a noise of sympathy. She is intimately familiar with the need to block out any thoughts and emotions that get in the way of what she needs to do to survive, even though those feelings have a way of simmering below the surface until they eventually boil over. So many thoughts lurk in the dark corners of her mind, and she fears that she will never be able to articulate them to another person. To make herself that vulnerable, to tear herself open and expose the rawest parts of her, is too much for her to consider after she has kept herself tightly armored for so long.

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” she replies. “That’s the problem with all of this. We can’t really approach dealing with what happened like normal people, can we?”

“No.” Renée pulls her blanket more securely around her. “I guess we’re stuck with sleepless nights and bad dreams until we figure it out.”

She looks so small and alone, huddled in the corner of the couch, and the space between them feels so much wider than a single cushion of distance. It would be so easy for Isabel to reach out and lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she cannot do it. Instead, she only has words to bridge the gap between them.

“Just remember that we don’t have to do it alone, okay?” she says, remembering what Hera had told her a few nights ago. “If you ever need help figuring it out, I’m here for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Renée reaches for the remote and points it at the TV to resume the movie’s playback. Her finger hovers on top of the “play” button before she lowers the remote with a sigh. She hesitates as if she is on the verge of saying something else, weighing the pros and cons before she speaks. When she finally opens her mouth, her words pour out without restraint, like she has been holding back the floodgates for too long.

“I still think about coming to my senses inside the depressurization chamber in the airlock,” she says. “When I was only seconds away from being spaced. It was… It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced.” She lets out a trembling breath. “I wish I didn’t remember how it felt to be under Pryce’s control like that. Doing things I never wanted to do and not being able to fight back. But I do, I remember _everything_ , and…” She sniffles, her voice heavy. Her fingers twist against the edge of her blanket as she pushes forward with her confessions. “And I never really had a chance to process it, at least not until everything was over, and then we were back on Earth and I had other things to worry about. But now that things have quieted down a little, there are times when my mind wanders and suddenly I’m _there_ again. Under Pryce’s control, or pointing a gun at Maxwell’s head, or… or listening to you die. And I have no idea how to handle it. I can pretend that everything’s okay, I’m really good at that, but inside I feel like I’m… Like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to put myself back together.”

The pain on Renée’s face and the anguish that dampens her eyes tugs at Isabel’s heart. She shifts position to move closer to Renée, unsure of how to comfort her. The question of whether a hug would be too forward is swiftly answered when Renée collapses against her, burying her face into her shoulder. Isabel holds her close as her body trembles with the snuffling breaths of her sobs, and she rubs her back in a soothing gesture.

“Trust me, I’m right there with you,” she says. “And I don’t think I’ve figured it out either. All I can say is that it really, _really_ sucks.”

Renée pulls away from her, sniffling slightly. “Oh God, that’s right. You probably think I’m an idiot, crying about something like this when you’ve had to deal with so much more.”

“Hey, it’s not a competition,” Isabel points out. “You don’t get to say things like that when you’ve gone through stuff that would probably have broken a _lot_ of other people. And you have to admit, it’s pretty fucked up that we both know what it’s like to be under someone else’s control.”

Renée lets out a small, watery laugh as she wipes her eyes. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “You understand, more than I think anyone else could. Even though you’re a lot better at holding yourself together than I am.”

Maybe on the outside, but Renée is good at that too. “Sometimes I have… I guess they’re like panic attacks,” Isabel admits. The confession feels strange on her lips. Until now, no one except for Hera has known about that particular dimension of her struggles, and that’s only because Isabel has no way to hide from her. “When the nightmares get really bad, or when something is just too much. I’ve only had one since I’ve been living here, but they’re, uh… They’re pretty rough sometimes.”

A frown of sympathy turns down the corners of Renée’s mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“I don’t know. It just didn’t seem important, I guess.” Isabel has no reason to broadcast her breakdowns, after all, and she prefers to leave them behind in the darkness and solitude of nights past. At Renée’s continued expression of concern, she adds, “Don’t worry so much. I know how to deal with them when they happen. But if you thought that I’m good at holding myself together…” She shakes her head with a bitter breath of laughter. “I’m kind of a fucking mess sometimes, to be honest.”

Renée lays a hand on Isabel’s arm in a simple gesture of comfort and reassurance. “I guess that makes two of us, then,” she says. “Just a couple of messes trying to figure things out.”

“Yeah.” Isabel touches Renée’s hand where it rests against her arm. Renée’s hand twitches, as if she has not expected the additional point of contact between them, but she does not pull away. “Nothing like some good old three A.M. bonding over shared trauma, right?”

Renée murmurs in agreement. “Thanks for listening to everything that I dumped on you,” she says. “I’m not sure how much it helped in the long run, but I _do_ feel a little better now.”

“Sure. Any time.”

Renée withdraws her touch from Isabel’s arm and retreats to the end of the couch that she had previously occupied. Even though they have reestablished the physical distance between them, the emotional distance feels like less of a gulf after the confessions that they have made.

“Can you, um… Can you stay here until I fall asleep?” she asks Isabel. “Just so I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, of course,” Isabel assures her. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.”

Renée resumes the playback of the movie and settles herself into a more comfortable position, lying down with her legs curled inward so that she does not take up the whole couch. Isabel half-pays attention to the plot and musical numbers that unfold on the TV screen, with the rest of her focus devoted to the mindlessness of a match-three game on her phone. By the time the movie has finished, Renée has fallen asleep, all of her troubles momentarily forgotten. She looks so peaceful, lying there with the blanket clutched around her, and a surge of fondness rushes through Isabel at the sight. As she reaches over Renée’s sleeping form to retrieve the remote and turn off the TV, a sudden urge overcomes her to lean in and kiss her slightly-parted lips. She resists the temptation and instead settles for the gentle brush of her fingers against Renée’s forehead to push back a few wayward strands of hair.

 _Sleep well, Renée,_ Isabel thinks, casting her one final look before she leaves her longing behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next several days, Isabel becomes acutely aware of how _something_ has shifted between her and Renée in the wake of their late-night conversation and confessions. She cannot quite place what that change is, but it leaves her unable to deny that her attraction has now tipped over the edge into something that she can no longer ignore. The question of whether she should act on these feelings is an entirely different issue. A mutual admission of how profoundly messed up they both are after what they endured in deep space is a clear sign that neither of them should be pursuing a new relationship right now, especially when Renée’s faltering marriage is added to the equation. Besides, she doesn’t even know whether Renée is interested in women in the first place. Isabel is not subtle about her own sexuality--although she isn’t one for dramatic coming-out statements, her outward presentation and occasional casual comments about the attractiveness of other women spell out “lesbian” clearly enough--but Renée remains a mystery to her on that front. Even though her marriage to a man does not necessarily rule anything out, statistically speaking Isabel must prepare for the possibility that she has fallen into the ultimate cliche of having feelings for a straight friend who has sent her more than a few mixed signals.

In any other situation, she would dive headfirst into making a move, not interested in agonizing over the details. The complications that surround her and Renée give her pause, however, and so she does not act with the boldness that she would have shown prior to leaving Earth. Instead it is Renée who approaches her nervously one evening when she is alone in the living room. Isabel does not want to immediately assume anything, of course, but something in her hesitant approach sends her heart racing in anticipation.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Renée asks her.

“Sure,” she replies. “Go ahead.”

Renée joins her on the couch, settling into the space that Isabel has made for her. She opens her mouth and then closes it before wetting her lips and trying again. “Okay, I’m just going to go ahead and say it,” she says. “You, um, you know how my husband and I are taking some time apart to figure things out between us. So I can process everything that’s happened by myself while I’m not trying to fit back into the life that I used to have. And that was supposed to be the main reason why we did it, but over the past several weeks I’ve realized…” Her hands entwine together in her lap, her fingers twisting themselves together as she turns her gaze down to them. “I’ve realized that there might be another reason as well.”

“And what’s that?” Isabel prompts her, her heart continuing to pound in her chest.

Renée inhales a breath and lets it out slowly, as if she is bracing herself for what she wants to say next. “You’ve been a good friend to me,” she begins, raising her eyes to look directly at Isabel. “Maybe not when we first met, since you were threatening to blow up my space station and everything, but definitely after I realized how brave and strong of a leader you are. And maybe it really was just admiration and respect at first, but now that we’re not dealing with at least one deep-space crisis every day, I’ve started to think that maybe it’s something different. That maybe I feel something more for you. And I feel like there might have always been some kind of attraction between us, but we just weren’t looking for it until now. Or maybe I just didn’t realize it until after you came here. I’m not sure.” She hesitates, although she does not break their eye contact. “Please tell me that I’m not crazy for thinking this?”

“No,” replies Isabel. “You’re definitely not crazy. I’ve noticed it too. And I’ve, uh… I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot lately. Mostly in the form of ‘God, I hope she’s not straight.’ Glad that’s been cleared up.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you much reason to think otherwise until now,” Renée says. “I’m just--Well, I’m not very open about being bisexual. You know how I tend to keep a lot of my personal life private, and I guess I’m still in that mindset with you guys even though we’re not on the job together anymore.”

“No worries,” Isabel assures her. “Although I _am_ kind of surprised that you’re making the first move. Doesn’t really seem like your style.”

Renée scowls. “Hey, I’m plenty good at taking initiative.”

“Yeah, but not when it comes to bringing up potentially awkward topics. And, you know, because of the whole ‘being married’ thing.”

A frown darkens Renée’s expression from its previous light-hearted irritation. “Look, I… I know we probably shouldn’t actually pursue this. Even if things don’t work out between Dominik and me, I shouldn’t jump right into being with someone else. But I couldn’t keep on seeing you every day while wondering if you felt the same way or if it was just me. So, um… That’s why I had to say something.”

A sense of lingering uncertainty hovers around her, which Isabel sees in the tight clasp of her fingers in her lap and the tension in her body. Surely there must be more that she is leaving unspoken. The Renée Minkowski that she knows would not lay something out and not press forward with it. She is too persevering to leave anything unfinished, even emotional entanglements.

“Yeah, sorry, you don’t get to leave it there,” Isabel says. “I’m not going to pretend that the situation is simple for either of us. But if you decided to bring it up, it’s because part of you wants to go through with it. And I’m not interested in being stuck in a weird ‘will we or won’t we’ phase. I care about you too much to let you leave things in a way that will make you unhappy.”

She speaks her feelings candidly, having no desire to dance around the details. The straightforward statement of “I care about you” no longer exposes such deep vulnerabilities now that Renée has taken the first step in admitting the attraction between them, and so Isabel does not hesitate to push forward into more decisive action.

“I--I’m not _un_ happy,” replies Renée. “But you’re right. Sometimes I wonder why I’ve thought that things can go back to how they were with Dominik when I’ve had you right here beside me for all this time. Because you _understand_ me. I don’t have to worry about what you would do if… if you found out that I shot and killed an unarmed hostage, or that I was brainwashed and mind-controlled by the enemy. You _know_ what I’ve been through, and you’ve been through hell yourself. And maybe that’s the kind of person I need to be with.”

There’s an inescapable earnestness in her eyes that elicits the familiar feeling of fond warmth inside of Isabel. She hears so much of her own thoughts and reservations in Renée’s words--not in the complication of an existing relationship, admittedly, but certainly in the yearning for companionship with someone who knows what she is and yet does not care. It seems like such a logical step for them to pursue their relationship to a place that is deeper and more intimate, even though it has taken them two years to reach this point.

“Yeah,” says Isabel. “Honestly, you’re the only person I can imagine being with right now. The whole alien thing kind of puts a damper on most of my relationship prospects. It’s not exactly something I can put in a dating profile, you know? Like ‘Isabel, thirty-six, interested in women, also secretly an alien.’ Sure, nobody would know that I’m not human just by looking at me, but with you I don’t have to worry about hiding it.”

A small smile plays at Renée’s lips. “That’s almost romantic, in a weird way.”

“I try.”

Isabel takes hold of her hand. Renée’s skin is warm under her touch as their fingers slot together in a mutual movement. When their eyes meet, a quiet understanding settles between them, eliminating all traces of hesitation. The upward tilt of Renée’s jaw as she leans forward feels like an invitation, a fearless testing of the waters, and so Isabel moves in to follow through. Their kiss is no more than the brief touch of their lips, but it sets her heart ablaze in that single moment before they pull apart.

“That was…” Renée begins, and there are a multitude of words and phrases that can finish her sentence. She does not yet withdraw her hand from Isabel’s grasp. “I guess we’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yep. No turning back now.”

Renée’s quiet laugh carries a sense of both nervousness and exhilaration. She tightens her hold on Isabel’s hand, and they kiss again. Isabel’s initial thought is that Renée is a _really_ good kisser, the warmth of her mouth bringing the perfect balance of passion and restraint as the kiss deepens. It shouldn’t be such an incongruous observation, because she is so devoted and conscientious in everything else that she does, but it takes her by surprise regardless. The world fades out around them as the moment becomes nothing but the junction of their mouths, and Isabel wishes that she could stay here forever.

When they break apart, all is quiet between them. One of Isabel’s hands has found its way to the nape of Renée’s neck, her fingers brushing against strands of hair. They both breathe, regaining themselves in the wake of the electricity that has passed between them until Isabel finally finds her voice.

“Holy shit,” she says, her words tamped down to a soft breath.

“Yeah,” Renée replies. “That sounds about right.”

“Not to, um, ruin the moment,” comes the sound of Hera’s voice, breaking the spell that has fallen between them. “But Doug’s on his way downstairs right now. I thought I’d give you fair warning so he doesn’t barge in on anything that you want to keep private.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Hera,” says Isabel. She re-establishes an acceptable distance between her and Renée on the couch, and by the time Doug enters the room, they appear no different than two friends and housemates spending time together.

“Well, I’m going to go for a run before it gets too dark,” Renée says, standing up from the couch in an abrupt movement. Before anything else can be said, she has rushed out of the room, leaving nothing behind but the retreating footfall of her steps as she goes upstairs to change clothes.

“Huh.” Doug frowns at her sudden departure. “Did I miss something? I’ve never seen her leave a room that fast before. Well, that I can remember,” he adds, with the bittersweet reminder that perhaps he _had_ seen her make a quick exit before losing his memories.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Isabel replies. She stretches her legs across the length of the couch, taking advantage of the space that has been recently vacated. “What’s up?”

“You ready to tag-team making dinner together?” he asks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m totally ready to conquer the pasta world tonight.”

Isabel laughs. “Don’t get too psyched up about it. It’s an easy world to conquer, especially when you’re working with mostly pre-made ingredients.”

She follows him into the kitchen, and as they get to work she barely notices Renée passing by on her way outside, her headphones already in her ears before she walks out the door. Isabel instead embraces the distraction of preparing dinner, splitting up the tasks between her and Doug to make the process go more smoothly. Over the past few weeks she, Doug, and Renée have fallen into the pattern of eating dinner together two or three times a week, their own version of family dinner in this house where they have all become each other’s family. Isabel is no culinary master, but she’s good at the basics and will gladly compensate for Doug’s questionable kitchen skills whenever it’s his turn to cook. There’s something soothing in making food with a friend, and she welcomes the new direction for her thoughts that veers her away from dwelling on how quickly Renée had (quite literally) run away as soon as Doug’s impending presence had interrupted the blissful aftermath of their kiss.

“Damn, Renée's been gone for a while,” Doug says through a mouthful of ravioli after they have sat down with their meal. “Do you think she’ll be mad that we started eating without her?”

“Hey, _she’s_ the one who bolted out of here so close to dinnertime,” replies Isabel. She stabs a ravioli onto her fork with a little too much force. “Besides, we made sure to save her some, so she can’t get too upset with us.”

“The amount of time that she’s been gone _is_ pretty consistent with some of her longer runs,” Hera adds, always part of the conversation at their family dinners despite being unable to eat with them. “I’ve been logging her workout data for her. Usually she saves her longer runs for the weekends, but maybe she wanted to mix things up a little today.”

“Yeah, thanks for updating us on her calendar,” says Isabel. She has known Renée long enough that she has a good sense of why she has stayed away from the house for so long, and it has nothing to do with keeping up with a workout schedule. She likely needs to get some distance as she works through everything that has surfaced in her mind after kissing Isabel. As wonderful as those two kisses had been, nothing about their situation is simple.

She and Doug finish eating, and even after they have cleaned up the kitchen and put the leftovers in the fridge, Renée has not returned. Isabel goes upstairs to lessen the agonizing wait for her to come home, despite Doug’s attempts to rope her into his latest movie marathon (“Come on, Isabel, it’s classic horror films! I need all the moral support I can get,” he says, but she declines, having experienced enough real-life horror in all of her lifetimes). Instead she creates her own distractions, partaking in some exercise of her own via some of the simple equipment that she has been gathering: a chin-up bar that she has recently installed across her closet door and a basic set of weights. Between her singular focus and the music that she blasts from her laptop, she barely registers the sound of Renée’s return until she realizes that her heart is racing with the anticipation of seeing her again. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly she gives into feeling like she is a teenager again, back in the days when she was so easily smitten.

Eventually, when Isabel has traded exercise for going through the latest schematics that Jacobi has sent her, she hears a knock against the door. “Come in,” she says.

The door opens, and Renée stands in the doorway, not yet fully entering the room. “I, um,” she begins, “I thought we should probably talk after what happened earlier. I kind of bolted out of there before we had a chance to close things out.”

“Hey, it happens,” Isabel replies. She hides away the printed pages of what Jacobi has sent her, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt at her secrecy. “Did you find the dinner we left for you in the fridge?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. It completely slipped my mind that we’d all planned to eat together tonight.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Isabel assures her. “Doug was only _slightly_ heartbroken that you weren’t there for the… I think he called it a ‘ravioli rager’?”

Renée laughs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think tonight was the first time I ate something that Doug Eiffel helped make that was actually really delicious.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” says Isabel. “You’ll give him delusions of culinary grandeur.”

“God forbid.”

Renée closes the door behind her as she enters the room. With Isabel occupying the chair at the desk, there is no other place for her to sit other than the private space of Isabel’s bed, and so she remains standing in the middle of the room. Her hands clasp together in front of her in a nervous motion.

“I feel like I should apologize for running out on you,” she says. “After Hera interrupted us, everything suddenly felt that much more real, and… Well, I panicked. I needed some time to myself while I sorted everything out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Isabel rises from her desk chair and crosses the room to sit down on her bed. She motions for Renée to join her. The mattress creaks with the added weight as Renée hesitantly sits next to her. “Although it doesn’t really do great things for my ego to have someone dash off right after kissing me.”

The hint of a smile turns up the corners of Renée’s mouth. “Don’t worry, the kisses were good. _Very_ good, in fact. _I’m_ the one who’s the problem.” Her expression darkens slightly. “I feel like I’m kind of in a gray area here. Dominik and I never really discussed where we stood on seeing other people while we’re separated, probably because neither of us thought it would be an issue. But now it is, and I don’t know what the verdict would be on you and me kissing and maybe starting something between us.”

“You think he wouldn’t be okay with it,” Isabel says, her words coming out as a statement rather than a question.

“I’m not sure,” admits Renée. She hesitates before adding, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, since it’s personal business between him and me, but… Well, our relationship has always been very much monogamous, but when I was in space and he thought I was dead, he eventually ended up going on a few dates. Which I can’t really fault him for, because he was trying to move on, but me being alive retroactively makes it more complicated. I’m not going to pretend that this is the same situation as one of us being dead, because it definitely isn’t. But it’s still not that straightforward, you know?”

Isabel murmurs in agreement. “So I guess the question is whether you really want to do this,” she replies. “If you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll back off. It’ll suck, but I’ll respect your choice. But like I said before, I don’t want to be in a situation where you’re waffling back and forth on whether we should be together. I don’t think that would be fair to either of us.”

“I _do_ want to be with you,” Renée says with no trace of hesitation. She takes hold of one of Isabel’s hands to reinforce the sentiment of her words. As she moves closer to her, Isabel catches a whiff of her fresh, clean scent from rinsing off after her run. “I keep thinking about that night last week when I couldn’t sleep, when I told you about how there’s so much that I’ve gone through that I can’t talk about with Dominik. And then I think about how I should be with someone who I _can_ share that stuff with, and… Well, you’re that person. You’re one of the only people who I can trust to fully understand how hard it’s been since coming back to Earth. And maybe instead of trying to fit back into the life I had before, I need to find a new path. With you.”

The sentiment is simple, but it stirs up something in Isabel’s heart regardless. “I’m not sure what this path looks like, to be honest,” she says. “But I’m definitely willing to give it a shot.”

She passes her thumb over the knuckles of Renée’s hand in a tender motion that conveys everything that she does not say. The touch brings a smile to Renée’s lips in a full and genuine expression of joy.

“Can I ask that we take things a little slow, though?” Renée says. “I know we’ve known each other for--God, has it really been over two years now? But I don’t want to ruin this by rushing into anything too quickly.”

“Yeah, going slow is probably a good idea,” agrees Isabel. Part of her _does_ long for an immediate dive into the deeper intimacy that she has not shared with another person in years, but she swiftly quiets and tames those desires. She still has much to relearn when it comes to being close to others, despite the strides she has made since emerging from her shuttle to find herself on the Hephaestus for a second time, scared and paranoid and alone.

“How about this?” she proposes. “We can go out for dinner or something this weekend. You know, like a first date kind of thing. We’ll treat this like any other new relationship, except the hard part of getting to know each other has already been taken care of.”

To her surprise, Renée responds to her suggestion not with affirmation, but rather with a stifled burst of laughter. “Sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t laugh. It’s a good idea. It’s just that you’re probably severely underestimating how long it’s been since I’ve been on a first date.”

“Hey, I’ve spent the better part of this decade either in space or dead.” Isabel ticks off both options on her fingers. “I bet it’s been just as long for me.”

“Oh, so we’re doing this, huh?” A competitive light surfaces in Renée’s eyes. “Let’s see, I met Dominik in 2008, so that’s going on… hmm, nine years since my last first date. Can you beat that?”

“Yeah, fine, you’ve made your point.” Isabel sighs wearily. “Look, some of us might have wanted one last fling before going to space, okay? Seven years is still a long time to go without dating.” She wants to add “And not all of us were married before we went to space,” but she leaves that comment aside, not wanting to bring up anything that connects to the current complication of Renée’s marriage.

“Sounds like we’ll be equally rusty at it,” Renée says. “How about we go out Friday night? It’s only two nights away.”

“That works for me.” Isabel rarely has weekend plans beyond whatever happens here at the house, and it’s nice to have something on her schedule that makes her feel a little more like a normal human being. A sense of exhilaration accompanies the thought of _I have a date with Renée Minkowski this weekend_ , an event that she would have never believed to be possible even a mere month ago. “So we’ll just, uh… keep things low-key until then?” she asks, even though she wants nothing more than to kiss Renée again before the night is over.

“I think that would be for the best, yes. And I suppose it goes without saying that we shouldn’t tell Doug about this. At least for now, until we get a better sense of where this is going. I would say to not tell Hera either, but I think that ship has already sailed.”

“Sorry,” Hera interjects in a reminder of her constant presence. “I can’t really help it. But I’m very happy for you two, for the record.”

“Thanks, Hera,” says Isabel, and Renée echoes the sentiment. “Just don’t do anything else to accidentally ruin the mood as things go forward, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” Hera replies. “I’m getting better at selectively ignoring rooms in the house, so I should be able able to give you two a little bit of privacy when you want it.”

Renée rises from where she sits on Isabel’s bed. “Well, I have some things I need to take care of before tomorrow,” she says. “Thank you for not getting mad at me for running off. I’m glad we had a chance to talk things out a little more.”

“Yeah, me too.”

A pause of uncertainty passes between them in the final moments of their conversation. Renée touches a hand to Isabel’s shoulder as she takes her leave, and after she has closed the door behind her, she leaves the thrill of new possibilities in her wake.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday night cannot come quickly enough as the next two days creep by. Even though going out with Renée will be far from a normal first date experience, the excitement and nervousness of anticipation floods through Isabel with every passing hour. It has been so long since she has felt like this, and all of her previous dates and relationships feel like they were part of someone else’s life. Which they _were_ , technically, because they happened to the original Isabel who is now long gone, but she does not dwell on that detail for too long. No matter who she is, she is ready to push forward and take control of another section of her life.

“So,” she says to Doug on Friday afternoon while he lounges on the couch playing his latest round of video games. “Tonight after Renée gets home from work, she and I are having, uh… a girls’ night out kind of thing. So you’ll have the house to yourself for a couple of hours. Well, except for Hera.”

“Hera’s not invited?” Doug asks. “I mean, I know she can’t really go out--sorry, Hera--but she _is_ a girl.”

“Nonono, I’m happy to stay here,” Hera replies with the swiftness of someone who knows _exactly_ what is going on. “You don’t have to worry about me being left out. Really.”

“If you say so,” says Doug with an indifferent shrug. “Anyway, have fun tonight. Renée could probably use a night out on the town, to be honest.”

“And I don’t?” Isabel teases. At his hasty, stammering backtracking, she gives a good-natured laugh. “Relax, I’m only messing with you a little. Just try not to throw any wild parties while we’re gone, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Doug replies. There’s something strangely endearing about how he continues to use the gender-neutral “sir” of Goddard hierarchy instead of the standard “ma’am,” as if pieces of his old self have seeped into this new version of him. “Hera and I will be on our best behavior.”

Isabel is not someone who needs hours to get ready for a date, and so it’s not until Renée returns home that she digs through her closet to find something to wear to dinner. She settles upon her nicest pair of jeans, a button-down shirt that isn’t made of flannel, a light leather jacket, and some lace-up boots. She studies her reflection in the mirror, fully able to believe that she is a regular human doing regular human things, until she hears a knock on her door.

“Are you ready to go?” Renée asks through the door.

“Yeah, hang on.”

She grabs her wallet and opens the door. Renée waits in the hallway, looking far more stunning than she ever did in a Goddard Futuristics mission uniform. Like Isabel, she tends to favor functionality over fashion in most of her attire, but there’s something breathtaking in seeing her in something a little dressier than usual: a nice top under a lightweight cardigan, some slacks that probably come straight out of her work wardrobe, and a pair of sensible flats.

“You look great,” says Isabel.

“So do you,” Renée replies. “Shall we get going?”

They go downstairs, and Doug and Hera’s farewells of “Have fun” and “Behave yourselves” follow them out of the house and into Renée’s car. Isabel settles into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt as Renée starts the car. The music that comes out of the speakers is not the grand drama of showtunes, but rather the sound of alternative rock on whichever station the radio is tuned to. Renée lowers its volume with a turn of a knob before putting the car in reverse.

“So where are you taking me tonight?” Isabel asks after Renée has pulled out of the driveway and into the street.

“I actually don’t know a lot of the restaurants around here, besides a few of the takeout places,” says Renée. “It’s not like I’ve had many opportunities to go out while I’ve been staying with Doug and Hera. Most of the places I know that would be good for a date night are in D.C. proper, and--well, they’re places that Dominik and I would go to.”

“And you don’t want to take me anywhere that’s special to you and him.” Isabel fills in the unspoken sentiment of Renée’s words. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Right, So I asked around at work for recommendations in this area and got a few suggestions,” Renée continues on. “I decided to go with a European-style bistro that looks like it has a good variety. Plus there’s an ice cream place across the street where we can grab dessert afterward, which _may_ have helped sway my decision a little.”

“It’s nowhere too fancy, right?” says Isabel. “We don’t want to go all out on the first date. Save that for a special occasion.” Not that she can think of an upcoming special occasion that doesn’t make presumptions about the future of their relationship, of course. She doesn’t even know when Renée’s birthday is, which would seem like an enormous oversight if it weren’t for birthdays being largely unimportant events during her second round on the Hephaestus.

“We _did_ agree to keep things low-key to start,” Renée replies.

They drive onward. Isabel has not been a passenger in Renée’s car on many prior occasions, and so she now fully realizes how much of a meticulous and law-abiding driver she is, never forgetting a turn signal and always maintaining the speed limit. It’s the exact kind of behavior that Isabel expects from her, to be honest. After years of having to perform risky maneuvers while at the helm of an enormous space station, she’s sure Renée finds comfort in the rigidity of traffic laws. The calm drive allows Isabel’s attention to wander, settling on details like the curve of Renée’s fingers around the steering wheel and the way that she runs a hand through her hair while they wait at a stoplight. Now that Isabel has embraced her previously suppressed attraction in all of its splendor, she has the clarity of self-awareness to remind her just how smitten she is.

The easy back-and-forth of idle conversation carries them into a downtown area and through the short walk from their parking space to the restaurant. By the time they are seated at their table, their words have stalled, replaced by the uncertainty of what to say now that they are sitting across from each other on an actual date. Isabel distracts herself with the menu as they fill the silence with deliberation over which appetizer to share and what wine to order. When they give their waiter the first part of their order, Renée says the French name of the wine with perfect pronunciation, and Isabel would think she was showing off if it didn’t sound so natural coming from her lips.

“So,” Isabel begins after the waiter has departed. “Should we really play up the whole first date thing and have some ‘getting to know you’ conversation?”

“We’ve known each other for two years,” Renée replies. “Even if we weren’t the best at sharing personal information while we were on the Hephaestus. Not to mention that we’ve been living together for over a month now. I can’t help but feel like we’re doing things a little backwards.”

“Hey, I’m sure there are still plenty of things that we don’t know about each other,” Isabel says. “I was just thinking earlier that I don’t even know when your birthday is.”

“May fourth,” replies Renée. “And before you say anything: yes, I know it’s a Star Wars thing. ‘May the fourth be with you’ or whatever. Doug made that _very_ clear to me during the first birthday that I had on the Hephaestus. He wouldn’t shut up about it until I threatened him with more work assignments and muted his comms.”

There’s the inevitable bittersweet pause that comes with remembering the old Doug before his memory wipe. The tension and irritation that surrounded the first year and a half of Renée and Doug’s time on the Hephaestus reminds Isabel so much of the evolution of her own friendship with Lambert. Although Doug 1.0 has only been lost to oblivion rather than to death, Isabel still knows how strange it feels to think back to those earlier times before a favorable change in interpersonal dynamics occurred.

“I wasn’t thinking about Star Wars, actually,” says Isabel. “I was just thinking that it’s coming up soon, isn’t it? In a few weeks?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” Renée gives a brief laugh. “It’s funny, it’s been so long since I’ve done anything for my birthday that it’s easy to forget about it. All that time in space will do that to you, I guess.”

“We’ll have to do something special for it, then,” Isabel says. “All of us, of course,” she adds, in case it seems like she is making any assumptions about the progression of their relationship. “I’m sure Doug and Hera would love to throw you a party.”

“Well, if you were hoping to have a surprise party, I think you just ruined it.” A hint of a smile turns up a corner of Renée’s mouth. “Anyway, when’s yours? Your birthday, I mean.”

“August eleventh. Still a ways off, so don’t start party planning just yet.”

By now their glasses have been filled with wine. As Renée’s hand closes around her glass, she says, “Should we do a toast or something? Since this _is_ kind of a special occasion?”

“Sure, why not?” Isabel raises her glass. “To us, and to… well, whatever tonight might be starting for us. Hopefully something good.”

“To us,” Renée echoes her.

They clink their glasses together and drink. Isabel is not a wine expert, but she savors the rich, dry taste that fills her mouth. She gives a murmur of appreciation before setting her glass on the table once more.

“Okay, I’ve got another ‘getting to know you’ question,” she says. “Where’d you learn to speak French so well?”

Renée takes another sip from her glass. “You didn’t know? It’s one of my native languages. I didn’t know any English until after my family came to the U.S. when I was a kid, and even then I still mostly spoke Polish and French at home. I definitely went through a period of resisting it after becoming fluent in English, though.” She laughs. “I think it must have been at least a solid month when I was around thirteen or so that I refused to speak to my parents in anything but English. I didn’t care about holding onto my roots back then. I just wanted to be like everyone else and _sound_ like everyone else.”

It’s strange for Isabel to imagine Renée in her youth, but the stubbornness and strong will that she has recounted in her adolescent anecdote meshes well with her adult self that Isabel has gotten to know so well. “And let me guess,” she says. “Briefly refusing to speak your native languages at home was your greatest act of teenage rebellion.”

“I’m not going to answer that,” replies Renée with a forced sense of dignity. “You’d just call me a goody two shoes anyway. Whereas I’m sure you got into all kinds of trouble when you were younger.”

“Not as much as you’re probably thinking,” Isabel admits. Various reckless and foolish acts of her childhood and teenage years drift through her mind, memories that this body never experienced but belong to her through the continuity of recollection. “When your dad’s a judge and your mom’s career military, you kinda want to avoid getting in trouble with them. My dad was such a pro at that one look where you just _know_ that he’s disappointed in you. And even though my mom was pretty chill most of the time, she wasn’t afraid to whip out that military discipline whenever I got in trouble.”

“Is that why you ended up following a military path?” asks Renée. “Because of your mom?”

“Yeah, partially. She’s always been my number one role model. You know, showing me that I don’t always have to be limited by my race or gender and all that.” Isabel drinks from her glass of wine, swallowing the liquid before continuing. “But she never pushed me into the military. That was one hundred percent my own choice. I even specifically chose to serve with a different branch than she did so that I didn’t feel like I was following _too_ closely in her footsteps.”

“She must be an amazing woman to have raised someone as strong and courageous as you are.”

From anyone else, the words would have sounded like empty flattery, but Isabel knows that Renée means every compliment that she gives, never hiding behind stale sentiments. “Yeah, she is,” she says. “She’s probably the most badass woman I’ve ever known. Well, until I met you, of course,” she adds, and now it’s Renée’s turn to flush pink at the flattering words.

Their evening continues on with conversation held over food and drink as they enjoy their meal. Isabel marvels at how easily the words flow between them, all of their initial hesitation now abandoned. She feels as if she is opening herself up piece by piece, and the parts that she exposes do not make her feel as vulnerable as she expects. Trust has not been an easy thing for her since losing so much of herself to paranoia and betrayal during her first mission on the Hephaestus, but as she sits here with Renée she feels safer than she has ever felt in her life--or, well, _this_ life. No nightmares or terrifying thoughts lurk in the shadows, and so she is able to sink into the emotional intimacy that she previously believed to be forgotten.

Everything else about dinner is, of course, as perfect as it can be on a first date. The food is delicious, and although Isabel has enjoyed having home-cooked meals a couple times a week while living with Renée and Doug, there’s nothing like dining out. She goes tried-and-true with her order--steak, roasted potatoes, grilled vegetables--and it does not disappoint. As she eats, she tentatively nudges one of Renée’s feet under the table with her own. Renée returns the gesture, the initial surprise on her face transforming into genuine fondness at the subtle act of affection that accompanies their conversation.

“So how should we do this?” Isabel asks after their plates have been cleared away and the waiter has left their check at the table. “Split the bill, pay for what each of us ordered, or what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Renée. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Really? You don’t have to do that.” Isabel won’t turn down a free meal, of course, but politeness makes her protest regardless.

“It’s fine,” Renée insists. She takes her credit card out of her wallet and slides it into the leatherbound receipt holder. “You can pay next time we go out, and then we’ll call it even.”

“So you think there’s going to be a next time, huh?” Isabel teases.

A smile crosses Renée’s lips. “Yeah. I think there will be.”

Isabel has expected nothing less, since tonight has been more of a formality than a test of compatibility, but the reassurance still bolsters her. As they leave the restaurant after their meals have been paid for, a bubbling contentment rises within her. It takes her far too long to recognize it as pure joy, an emotion that has remained so elusive to her in this alien body. She would have never expected that a dinner date of all things would cause her to rediscover something that she has not truly felt for years, and yet here she is, sinking into the strange feeling that maybe everything is going _right_ for once.

They go across the street to the ice cream shop that Renée had mentioned earlier, and as they walk Renée shivers slightly in the night air. Isabel could do the chivalrous thing and offer her jacket to her or wrap an arm around her to warm her up, but instead she gives a joking comment of “You sure you want to get ice cream right now?”

“I’m fine,” Renée insists. “It’s spring, it’s not like I’m freezing. And you are _not_ depriving me of a chance to get ice cream, damn it.”

Once they are inside, they pore over the flavors on display, ranging from the mundane to the adventurous, before making their decisions. “Don’t even think about it,” Isabel says as Renée gets out her wallet when it’s their turn to order. “You paid for dinner, the least I can do is take care of dessert.”

“Okay, but don’t think that you’re off the hook for paying for dinner next time we go out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They take their cones from the server--double fudge brownie for Isabel and raspberry chocolate chip for Renée--and sit down at a hard plastic table in the corner. The rich decadence of chocolate, a flavor that Isabel can never resist, fills her mouth as she starts eating her cone. It had been hard to turn down the desserts that had been on the menu at the restaurant, but now she does not regret the choice to seek dessert elsewhere.

“You know, I think ice cream was one of the foods that I missed the most while I was in space,” says Renée. “Sure, they sent up some packs of astronaut ice cream with us for novelty’s sake, but it’s just not the same.”

“You should have been there when I was raiding Cutter’s food supply on the Sol,” Isabel replies. “He had some pretty amazing ice cream in the freezer. You would have loved it.”

Renée murmurs in agreement. “Unfortunately, the closest thing I got was the time that I threatened Hilbert into making me some ice cream when I was, um… _impaired_.”

“Impaired?” Isabel repeats. A flash of memory surfaces in her mind, back when she had been strapped to a bed in Hilbert’s abandoned lab in the midst of the crew’s attempts to provoke her into a state of alien possession. “Wait. Back on the Hephaestus, Doug mentioned something about how Hilbert accidentally got you ‘drunk and/or high’ one time. _Please_ tell me that’s what you mean by ‘impaired’ and now I get to hear the full story about how that happened.”

“Oh, for Christ’s--” Renée’s irritated words break off into a sigh. “I should have known that he wouldn’t let that go. Anyway, there’s not much I can tell you, because I don’t remember much of what happened. But apparently I get _really_ passionate about staging musicals and eating homemade ice cream after Hilbert makes me drink the concoction from hell to get out of participating in the crew talent show.”

Isabel laughs, ignoring Renée’s scowl at the response. “Oh my God. No offense, but that sounds exactly like you. Was there singing? I _need_ to know whether there was singing.”

“Nope. I’m allowed to keep at least some of my dignity.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Isabel relents, biting off a chunk of brownie embedded in her ice cream.

As they continue to eat, her eyes are drawn to how Renée’s tongue swirls around the remaining ice cream at the top of her cone before biting into it. Isabel suspects that she is not purposefully trying to turn her on, because she is nowhere near that forward, but the sight elicits the gentle pull of desire within her regardless. _Congratulations, Isabel, you really are hopeless_ , she thinks to herself, no longer resisting how deeply she has fallen for the woman sitting across from her.

After they have both finished their cones, they leave the ice cream shop and begin the walk back to the car. They keep their pace leisurely, falling in time with each other’s steps as they converse. Isabel brushes her hand against Renée’s in a questioning motion, silently asking permission to take it in her own. Renée glances around cautiously before accepting her touch and entwining their fingers together. Walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with her is such an exhilarating wordless statement, as Isabel shows the world that she has no intention of hiding that she is on a date with another woman. She savors the feeling until their hands slip apart upon reaching the car.

The drive home goes by much more quickly than Isabel wants, with the passing streetlights glowing softly against the dark sky as the headlights lead the way. Even though she and Renée are returning home to the same roof tonight, the reality that awaits them at the house is very different from the past couple of hours that they have spent together. Home brings complications, including the continued necessity of keeping quiet about their blossoming relationship until they have a better picture of their future. From the moment that they step through the front door, all of the magic of the night will fade away, leaving nothing but the memories that they have shared together.

When they arrive at the house, they linger on the front steps, prolonging the inevitability of going inside. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” Renée says, standing face-to-face with Isabel in front of the door. “I had a really great time.”

“Hey, you did your part to make it wonderful too,” replies Isabel. “I can’t take _all_ of the credit.”

“I suppose a good first date _is_ a two-person effort.”

Renée steps closer to her, and they mutually move in to meet their lips in a kiss. They don’t delve too deeply into passion, not when the front door is so visible from the street, but by the time they break apart Isabel is cupping Renée’s face in her hands. She brushes her thumb against her cheek, feeling her face move with her smile. One of Renée’s own hands rests just above Isabel’s hip, and it makes her long for further contact that will have to wait until another night.

“Guess we’d better get inside, huh?” she says.

“Yeah, we probably should.” Renée moves away from her and reaches for the door handle. “Time to see what Doug’s movie and/or TV marathon is tonight.”

They enter the house and find Doug in front of the TV with a half-eaten box of pizza on the coffee table. “Hey, how was girls’ night out?” he asks.

“Oh, I think it went _very_ well,” says Hera with an unmistakable smirk in her voice.

Isabel groans, having forgotten about Hera’s exterior camera at the front door. Fortunately, Doug seems oblivious to the implications of Hera’s words and does not comment further on the matter.

“We’re watching some _X-Files_ right now if you wanna join in,” he says instead. “I totally understand all of the ‘I Want To Believe’ references from the logs now.”

With no further plans for the evening now that her date with Renée is effectively over, Isabel joins him for the length of a few episodes. Alien conspiracies hit a little too close to home for her now that her entire _existence_ is an alien conspiracy, but she’s not going to say no to watching a couple of hours of Gillian Anderson on-screen. It’s a good way to unwind from the excitement of the evening, even though Isabel has a difficult time resisting the urge to put an arm around Renée where she sits next to her on the couch. Instead there are only quick glances and stolen smiles between them until Renée retires to bed.

Isabel is not far behind her after she has gone upstairs. and she soon finds her brushing her teeth in the bathroom, dressed for bed and humming softly to herself. She watches her fondly from the doorway until Renée notices her reflection in the mirror and gives a start at her presence.

“Going to bed already?” Renée asks after she has spit into the sink. “It’s a little early for you, isn’t it? Unless you’re just looking for a goodnight kiss.”

Isabel laughs. “What can I say? You’ve awakened my secret romantic side. Don’t tell anyone, but I can be kind of a huge sap sometimes.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Renée moves closer to her, taking hold of her hands and tilting her chin up to kiss her. It’s no more than a quick peck, but Isabel can taste the fresh mint of her toothpaste before they pull apart. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Renée lets go of her hands and retreats behind the closed door of her bedroom. Isabel goes into her own room, basking in utter contentment as she replays the night’s events in her head. Perhaps it’s too much to hope that she will sleep well tonight, but she clings to the possibility regardless as she settles into bed a couple of hours later.

Her dreams take her to the familiar metal walls and low gravity of the Hephaestus, the location that serves as the backdrop to all of her recent nightmares. The form of a gun weighs heavy in her hands as her arm raises of its own volition, as if she is a puppet with someone else pulling her strings. The puppetmaster himself stands nearby, and the hazy scenery of the dreamscape twists and distorts Cutter’s wide grin. Isabel’s mind screams against his control, but like always she cannot form any sound. Instead there is only the command of Cutter’s voice and his calm statement of “Isabel? Shoot her” as she locks terrified eyes with Renée. This is how it always ends, with her finger closed around the trigger of the gun to fire a bullet into Renée’s stomach. Renée gasps, touching a hand to the rapid spread of dark red blood across her shirt where the bullet has pierced her skin, and Isabel can do nothing to take back the action that she never wanted to do.

“Please put Renée out of her misery,” Cutter says, as if politeness and the never-wavering twist of his smile is enough to make his orders sound reasonable. Isabel strains against the command, her breath constricted in her lungs and her hands shaking, but this time her willpower does not allow her to break free.

Renée stares at her in terror, pain in her eyes and blood on her hands. “Isabel,” she pleads with words she never said in reality. “Don’t listen to him. You don’t want to do this.”

Isabel does not listen, _cannot_ listen. After she has taken aim at Renée’s head, her trigger finger moves before her brain can process the action. _Please wake up_ , the aware part of her brain begs during the split second during which the bullet leaves the chamber of the gun. _For the love of God, please wake up._

The echoing noise of the gunshot jerks her awake. Her heart pounds frantically as if it is trying to break free of her chest, and the dampness of tears stings in her eyes. The familiar crushing feeling of helplessness and fear surrounds her, pushing in from all sides with the memory of the distorted version of reality that the nightmare has shown her. Isabel does not let the feelings overwhelm her this time. Instead, the panicked adrenaline within her transforms into an all-consuming fury at how even after a wonderful night, she cannot escape from the specter of Cutter and the many ways that he has ruined her life.

“Isabel?” Hera says hesitantly as she sits up in bed, her fists clenched tightly and the dull edges of her fingernails digging into her palms.

Isabel ignores her. She reaches for her phone, paying no mind to the late hour, and scrolls through her short list of contacts until she finds Jacobi’s name. He is not likely to answer, especially if he is asleep with his phone silenced, but she acts with no regard to the convenience and courtesy of others. There is only the relentless forward momentum of rage, because her fear of bringing harm to Renée has haunted her dreams for the last time.

She paces impatient circles around her bedroom as she listens to each ring of the phone that goes unanswered. Eventually, after she is fully prepared for the call to go to voicemail, she hears Jacobi’s voice, heavy with the grogginess that comes with being unexpectedly awakened.

“Lovelace?” he asks. “What the--”

“I’m done waiting,” she says with no greeting to him. “I don’t care about finding the perfect opportunity anymore. I’m coming to Canaveral, and we’re going to burn Goddard Futuristics to the fucking ground.”


	7. Chapter 7

At first there is only silence on the other end of the phone. “It’s two in the morning,” Jacobi says finally. Isabel can hear the confused blink and the hand rubbed across his eyes in his words. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Exactly what I said.” Isabel halts her restless steps and sits down on the end of her bed. She clenches her hand around her phone to keep it from shaking. “Let’s do it. Blow up Cutter’s fucking office, or whatever. I’m ready.”

“Whoa, hey. No offense, but you sound a little intense right now. Not that I’m complaining about your enthusiasm for explosions,” Jacobi amends quickly. “But is everything okay? Did something happen?”

Only the recurrence of old nightmares that remind her of her capacity to hurt people she cares about, but Jacobi does not need to know about that. “I’m fine,” she says. “But Goddard Futuristics won’t be. Not when I’m done with them. I want this to be over.”

The long breath of Jacobi’s sigh comes through the phone’s speaker. “Fine. Just give me a second.” There’s a pause on the other end of the call, during which he is likely getting out of bed to retrieve the laptop or tablet where he has been keeping his plans for their operation. “I still haven’t gotten the last part of the crack for the security system from Pryce,” he says. “Last I heard from her, she said she’d have it ready to send to me by the start of this coming week. So at the very least we’re going to have to wait until then.”

“And you’re sure I can’t just go through a vent somewhere and pop out in Cutter’s office undetected?” Isabel asks. “It would make things a lot easier.”

“Nope. Not unless you can instantly take out multiple security cameras before they spot you. Also I’m pretty sure the vents at HQ aren’t conveniently person-sized like they were on the Hephaestus.”

Isabel groans in frustration. “So you’re going to make me wait at least until next week, huh?”

“Yeah, well, we’re shit out of luck until we can get security down,” says Jacobi. “I’ve been buttering up one of the security AIs to give me as much access to the system as I can, and I feel like I’m always one step away from making him suspicious of me. Can’t really go asking him ‘Oh hey, can you tell your friends to quietly ignore the intruder in the building,’ can I?”

“I suppose not,” Isabel replies. “But we’ll be ready to go once you know how to shut down the security system, right? We’ll be ready to get this show on the road by next week?”

“I don’t want to jinx anything, but… yeah. As long as you don’t mind a little bit of risk and probably having to knock out a security guard or two. But what’s a secret mission without a little bit of both of those?”

“After some of the plans that I pulled off on the Hephaestus, I think I’m ready for anything.”

“Good.” Jacobi hesitates before adding, “So are you going to tell me what’s got you in a rush to get this done? _Something_ must have happened, or else you’re just taking the ‘exchanging information in the dead of night’ thing really seriously.”

His question does not carry nearly enough genuine sentiment to convince her to tell him the truth. She cannot open up to him with the raw honesty that she has been able to share with Renée and Hera, despite the strange friendship that has developed between them out of a mutual need for each other’s expertise and a common desire to make some sense out of the many ways that Goddard Futuristics has destroyed their lives. Instead she merely offers a deflecting response of “I’ll let you know what flight I get and when to expect me. Make sure you have your toys ready by then, okay?”

A long pause passes between the two of them. “Yeah, okay,” Jacobi says finally. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Like hopping on a plane right now and deciding to go solo on this.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Isabel replies. She shifts restlessly where she sits in her bed. “But I’ll try not to. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Isabel ends the call and sets her phone aside. Her hands no longer tremble with the emotions that surge within her, nor does her heart beat in her chest with unbearable urgency. The images from her dream dissolve into increasing indistinctness with each second that passes. She closes her eyes and repeats the old mantra that keeps her grounded in these moments-- _You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re home_ \--to prevent herself from sinking into a spiral of unpleasant thoughts. Her fury does not fade as easily, and so she continues to feel the unshakable need to put an end to all of her nightmares right now, to conquer what should have ended with the harpoon to Cutter’s chest months ago.

“I know you’re listening, Hera,” she says into the silence of the room. “You don’t have anything to say? No ‘What happened?’ or ‘Aren’t you being a little too reckless’?”

“Do you want me to say those things?” Hera replies. “Because it kind of seems like you want some space right now.”

“No, I--” Isabel huffs out a breath. She leans forward, her elbows resting against her knees as she runs a hand through the short curls of her hair. “I don’t know. I’m just so goddamn sick of this.”

“The nightmares?”

“The nightmares. Being afraid of myself. Being afraid of hurting others. Take your pick.”

Hera makes a quiet noise of sympathy. The sound is remarkably human for something that is comprised solely of bits and bytes that model her creator’s voice. “Sorry. I wish I knew what to say. Other than that I kind of know how it feels.”

Isabel lifts her head to look at the glowing red light on Hera’s camera that indicates her presence in the room. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says. “But thanks for being here.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room falls silent again. Isabel settles back into bed, pushing aside the restlessness and anger that battles against the vulnerabilities deep inside her. She imagines Renée lying next to her, the warmth of her body pressing against her in a reminder that she is _here_ , not bleeding out somewhere in deep space. It’s strange to miss someone who is asleep in the next room, but she longs for Renée’s company regardless. As tempting as it is for Isabel to go into her room and crawl into bed with her, she does not want to disturb Renée’s slumber. Instead, she settles for sleeping alone as she has done for years.

She ends up lying awake for the rest of the night until the sky lightens into dawn. By the time the sun has risen, the lingering adrenaline that courses through her body demands to be released. She therefore gets out of bed, throws on some running clothes, and heads outside. The footfall of her sneakers against the sidewalk gives her a new focus, and the music in her ears and the natural high of exercise distracts her from her thoughts as she runs her usual route through the neighborhood in the early morning sunshine.

Everything remains quiet in the house when she returns, and not even Renée, usually the earliest weekend riser in the house, is awake yet. For now, Isabel forgoes her usual morning cup of coffee and instead heads straight for the shower. As much as she wants to stay under the flow of the water for as long as possible, she does not linger lest she face the return of the thoughts that plague her idle mind. Less than five minutes pass before she steps out of the shower to dry herself off, wrapping a towel around her and scooping up her discarded clothes before opening the bathroom door.

She gives a start when she sees Renée in the hallway, likely waiting for access to the bathroom. Isabel clutches her towel more tightly around her in a reflexive motion. She does not embarrass easily, but there is definitely something awkward about running into Renée the morning after their “taking it slow” first date while wearing nothing but a towel.

“You’re up early,” Renée says.

“Yeah. I figured I might as well get a run in early since I was awake anyway.” At the frown upon Renée’s lips, Isabel adds, “What? You’ve got your disapproval face on.”

Renée relaxes her expression, although the concern does not leave her eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing. You just look exhausted, that’s all. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Isabel insists. Her lie is as convincing as Renée’s attempt to play off her worries as “nothing.” “You don’t have to worry about me. Everything’s under control.” Or it will be soon, once she finally arrives at Goddard headquarters and puts her and Jacobi’s plan into motion.

“Right. Of course.” Renée clears her throat. She has kept her gaze straight ahead throughout their brief conversation, but the quick downward glance that she gives to Isabel’s barely covered body does not escape her notice. “I should, um. I should let you get dressed.”

“Meet you downstairs for breakfast later?” Isabel says before Renée disappears behind the bathroom door.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” replies Renée. Even before the recent change in their relationship, they have fallen into the habit of having breakfast or brunch together on weekend mornings. Isabel does not intend to stop that tradition anytime soon, especially not when she can now entertain the idle thought of shared kisses and the touch of their hands as they prepare their meal together.

“You’re going to have to tell her about what you’re planning eventually, you know,” says Hera after Isabel has returned to her bedroom.

She slides on a clean pair of pants over her legs. “No, it’s easier this way. Getting her involved would make things too complicated.”

Hera makes a skeptical noise but says nothing further. Isabel finishes getting dressed and heads downstairs to make herself a mug of coffee. She paces around the kitchen with impatient steps while she waits for it to brew, and she tries to ignore the guilt that Hera has ignited within her at the reminder that Renée remains unaware of her plans. She doesn’t have to clear everything she does with Renée, she reminds herself, at least not anymore. Even when she had been under Renée’s command on the Hephaestus she had often delighted in pushing the boundaries of her leadership just enough to keep her on her toes, but now a different kind of respect exists between them that makes her constantly doubt her secretive actions.

She pushes the thoughts out of her mind and instead chooses to focus on the more positive developments in her life. She and Renée have not yet planned a second date, but they still find bursts of time to spend alone together over the course of the weekend. Even hours after it happens Isabel finds herself thinking about a stolen moment in the upstairs hallway, with Renée pushed up against the wall as the kiss passionately with the thrill of possible interruption. It has been so long since Isabel has felt the exhilaration of a new relationship, and not even the secrets that she keeps from Renée are enough to dampen that joy.

By the beginning of the new week, Isabel and Jacobi have everything lined up for their break-in, with Isabel’s flight to Florida booked and their full infiltration route secured. Wednesday is their scheduled go-time, and so the hours until then move both too fast and too slow as Isabel ensures that she has everything packed and ready for travel. She does not say anything about her impending departure, intending to slip away while Renée is at work and Doug is otherwise occupied. The only person she consults before leaving is Hera, only because _someone_ has to know where she is if, God forbid, something goes wrong during her and Jacobi’s mission.

“If anyone asks you where I’ve gone, say you don’t know,” Isabel instructs her, standing in her room with her bag packed. “Renée might try to force something out of you, but just remind her that you’re not under command protocols anymore and you don’t have to follow her orders.”

“Technically that means I don’t have to follow _your_ orders, either,” Hera points out. “But really, Isabel, I don’t know about this. Once you’re gone, there’s nothing they can do to stop you, right? You’re your own person, and you don’t have to answer to any of them. What’s the point of having me cover for you?”

“I just don’t want them to worry,” says Isabel with the same weak excuse that she has told herself thousands of times. “And I think you’re severely underestimating how likely it is that Renée will literally fly a plane to Canaveral herself if she finds out I’m there.”

A quiet laugh comes through Hera’s speakers. “Okay. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best to keep quiet. And I know this probably goes without saying, but _please_ be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Don’t do anything _too_ stupid,’ right?” Isabel grabs the single piece of carry-on luggage that she will bring on the plane with her, since she does not need to bring much with her beyond a change of clothes and basic toiletries. “I’ll see you when I get back. Hopefully tomorrow, if everything goes as planned, but nothing’s set in stone yet.”

“Travel safe,” says Hera.

Isabel leaves the house unnoticed by anyone else, thanks to the convenient coincidence of Doug running some afternoon errands, and takes public transportation to the airport. Her flight departs without a hitch a couple of hours later, and once she’s in the air she leans back comfortably in her seat, closing her eyes and putting headphones in her ears to block out the claustrophobic feeling of being in a confined space with hundreds of people. After spending years in the company of only a handful of other people, it has taken a while for her to re-acquaint herself to being in crowds, with the tangle of voices and multiple pairs of eyes who might somehow recognize what she is. No matter how many times she reminds herself that no one on this plane has any reason to believe that she is not human, the fear continues to nag at her with the inescapable fact that no matter what she does to settle the score with Goddard, she will always be an inhuman shadow of her former self.

After the plane has landed, she disembarks and navigates her way through the airport until she finds where Jacobi has been waiting for her outside of the security checkpoints. He catches Isabel’s eye and waves her over. She has not physically seen him since they had parted ways months ago after their initial business with Goddard had concluded, but he looks the same as ever. Slightly less smug, maybe, but Isabel can’t imagine the time since returning to Earth has been easy for him after everything that he has lost.

“Hey,” he greets her. “Good to finally see you again.”

“You too.” Despite everything that the two of them have been through together, Isabel would feel strange hugging him, and so she only offers words in greeting. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I hate how crowded airports are.”

They make their way to the garage where Jacobi is parked, and light conversation passes between them before they arrive at his car. “Wow, your car is an actual piece of shit,” Isabel says, not hesitating to jump into some light ribbing. “And here I thought Goddard paid you well enough that you’d have a car with all the latest tech.”

“Hey, it’s still reliable after all these years, and it’s got character.” Jacobi unlocks the car and opens the driver’s side door. “Throw your bag in the back, there’s plenty of room. Then we’ll head out.”

Isabel does so and then settles herself into the passenger seat. Even within the privacy of the car, they do not yet dive into discussion about their plan. Their conversation instead turns elsewhere as they travel down the stretch of highway between the airport and Jacobi’s apartment.

“How are things at Casa de Doug?” Jacobi asks. “Is it just like old times?”

“Sure, except we don’t have any daily disasters or a constant sense of dread hanging over us,” replies Isabel. “And no Goddard employees breathing down our necks. No offense.”

“So having a soon-to-be-former Goddard employee hanging around for a little while would probably be a no-go, huh?”

Isabel turns her head to look at him. He stares straight ahead at the road in front of him, and his face remains impassive. “What, you’re planning on coming home with me?” she says. “I mean, I know I’ve been bugging you to get out of Canaveral and come visit, but...”

“I might as well, since I officially turned in my resignation this morning. It’s not exactly a two weeks’ notice when you’re planning to leave a bomb in one of their offices and immediately skip town afterward, but hey, you can’t say it isn’t a stylish exit.”

“It’s definitely a hell of a way to send a final message to the old boss,” Isabel agrees. “And you know Doug says that everyone’s welcome at his place, former ballistics assholes included. Just as long as you don’t mind sleeping on the couch and having an AI living in the walls.”

“Eh, I’ve lived in worse conditions. I can deal with it.” Jacobi gives a brief laugh. “Anyway, you haven’t booked a return flight yet, right? I was thinking we could drive this car back to D.C. You know, as a mini roadtrip and/or getaway route.”

Isabel raises her eyebrows. “You’re sure that’s the best choice when we might have Goddard on our asses after we’re done fucking them up? It would be pretty easy for them to track us if they recognize your car making a fast exit out of Canaveral.”

“That’s why we’re not going to let them catch us,” replies Jacobi as if it is the most obvious solution in the universe. “Come on, Lovelace, how long have we known each other? I always get the job done.” At Isabel’s noise of skepticism, he adds, “Okay, I _usually_ get the job done. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred. It’s a pretty good track record.”

“Even if it means you being dragged kicking and screaming into not being a completely horrific person,” Isabel says.

They continue along the highway and various roads until they reach Jacobi’s apartment building. Upon entering his apartment, Isabel sees that its interior is sparsely furnished and decorated, as if most of its character has been stripped away. A cursory glance at the scribbled labels on the boxes stacked in the middle of the living room shows that they contain only the essentials, indicating a transition to a more transitory lifestyle.

“Wow. You really _are_ clearing out of here,” she says.

“Yeah. Most of the big things are already in storage. You know, just in case. I figured I don’t need much for now, at least until I decide what I’m doing next.” Jacobi sets his keys on the kitchen table and sits down. “You hungry? We can order some food while we make sure everything is ready to go.”

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

They order Chinese delivery, and by the time their meal arrives they are deep in their review of the maps and documents that they have amassed over the past several weeks as they have formulated their break-in. “All right, let’s go through the plan one last time,” Isabel says, setting aside her now-empty container of noodles after having scarfed them down. “From the top.”

“Really?” Jacobi groans through a mouthful of chicken. “We _just_ finished going through everything.”

“Yeah, but we’re going to be in limited contact with each other once things get started, and I want to make sure we’re prepared. And we still have plenty of time before we head over to Goddard HQ, so let’s go through everything again.”

“Okay, fine,” relents Jacobi. He tosses his napkin into one of the empty containers. “First I go into the R&D building. Lighter security, easier access, and it won’t look too weird for me to enter after hours even if I quit this morning. I let you in through the side entrance here--” He indicates a location on the map in front of him. “--near the underground tunnel network that connects the buildings. We’ll enter the corporate building through the tunnels, and once we’re in there--”

“You’ll head for the security offices to disable security throughout the building, keeping out of sight of any cameras on the way,” Isabel finishes for him. “Meanwhile, I go up the maintenance stairwell--” She traces the path on the map with a finger. “--to the former Special Projects floor and wait for you to radio me that security’s down. I knock out the patrolling guard if necessary, find Cutter’s office, set the bomb, and haul ass out of there before it blows.”

“And then we drive off into the night and never look back. Mission accomplished.” Jacobi takes a drink from his bottle of beer. Neither of them have any intention of getting drunk before such an important operation, but Isabel certainly isn’t saying no to some light liquid courage before they leave. “Okay. I think we’ll be ready to roll once the time comes. Now we just have to hang out here until we’re reasonably sure that everyone except for the night guards have cleared out.”

“Great.” Isabel drinks from her own bottle. “Got any entertainment around here, or is it all packed away?”

They eventually end up finding something to watch on Netflix via Jacobi’s computer, enjoying their last few hours of downtime before their mission begins. Before they leave, they load up Jacobi’s car with the belongings that he has not put away in storage, along with the bomb that he has built for the mission (“It’s got a low detonation impact and a limited radius so it definitely won’t bring the whole place down, but it’ll easily fuck up an office or two,” he explains), a set of long-range walkie-talkies for communication, and a pair of firearms as an added precaution. Despite enjoying the civilian life for the past several months, Isabel finds a comforting familiarity in having the weight of a gun in her hand before concealing it within the holster that Jacobi has given her. It almost makes her wish that Renée was here with her, standing unfalteringly by her side as they take on Goddard Futuristics one last time.

Jacobi takes a last look at the apartment building before they drive away. At Isabel’s silent inquiry of slightly raised eyebrows, he says, “This place has got a lot of memories. But sometimes it’s better to just move on.”

Isabel wonders if the same is true for his time at Goddard, but she does not ask him about it. Instead she settles back into her seat for the drive to the Goddard Futuristics headquarters, listening to the rock music on the radio as they move closer to their destination. A sense of steely focus surrounds Jacobi as he drives, a degree of determination that Isabel had occasionally seen from him on the Hephaestus: first when orchestrating a precise explosion to rescue Maxwell from a rapidly overheating lab and again when targeting the torpedoes to tow an ejected pod from the Sol back to the station. It reminds her that this is not just her mission, and that he is as devoted and motivated as she is.

They pull into a parking space in what Isabel assumes is an employee lot, which fortunately does not require any authentication for entry beyond an automated scan of Jacobi’s employee ID card. Isabel steps out of the car and checks her gear to ensure that everything is in order: the walkie-talkie in her back pocket, the gun holstered at her hip, and the bomb concealed within the small backpack that she slings over her shoulders. She stares ahead at the silhouettes of the buildings in front of her as she recalls the first time she had set eyes upon Goddard headquarters over seven years ago, when the original Isabel thought she was merely getting called in for an ordinary job interview. So much has changed since then, and now Isabel will enter these buildings for a final time before declaring herself done with Goddard forever.

She and Jacobi part ways at the R&D building as planned, with Jacobi entering through the front door while Isabel circles around the back. She keeps to the shadows as she searches for the door that Jacobi has described to her, an unremarkable maintenance entrance that likely does not get much regular traffic. Each sound of the wind in the trees and the passing of distant cars puts her on high alert, but she remains undetected until the door opens. Its sudden noise startles her, and her adrenaline is soon replaced with relief when she sees Jacobi on the other side.

“Come on, get in,” he says. “We should be good security-wise, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

She passes through the door to find herself in a dimly-lit hallway. “No problems getting in?” she asks Jacobi as she follows him around a corner and through another door.

“Not yet. But this is the easy stuff. Once we’re inside the corporate building, it’ll be a whole different ball game.” They head down a set of stairs and into a passageway that Isabel assumes is the tunnel system running under the Goddard campus. “Let’s hope that cozying up to the AI that runs the main security office has paid off and he lets me into the system.”

“You know, I’m almost sorry I’m not going to be there to watch you try to flirt your way past a security AI,” Isabel says. “We finally have a mission where you get to use your powers of seduction.”

“Don’t get too excited. AIs aren’t my type either. And it’s less seduction and more… _overriding_. I’m no AI expert, but I _did_ pick up a few things here and there during my SI-5 work.”

Like overriding the central processor of an autopilot system while the mother program is offline, Isabel wants to say, but she chooses not to bring up that particular incident. Instead, she steps around a pile of boxes filled with what looks like old books and pamphlets.

“God, it’s creepy down here,” she says. “Don’t they have better places to store this crap? Or is this where they’re hiding everything they don’t want the feds to find?” She peers into another one of the boxes as she walks by to read the covers of its first layer of contents. “Pryce and Carter’s Deep Space Survival--Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“They came out with a new edition every five years or so,” Jacobi replies, thoroughly unperturbed by what Isabel has found. “Gotta keep the old ones somewhere, right? And it could be worse. They could be keeping dead bodies down here or something.”

“You are _way_ too chill about that possibility,” Isabel mutters, until she reminds herself that she is talking to the same man who willingly went along with Goddard’s atrocities for years and has shown no objection to being called a “vaguely horrific person.”

They eventually reach the door that leads up to one of the more unobtrusive entrances within the corporate building. Isabel half-expects an alarm to blare after Jacobi pushes open the door, ruining their infiltration attempt in one fell swoop, but their weeks of planning have thus far paid off when it comes to navigating the blind spots in the security system. _Don’t think about what could go wrong_ , she reminds herself. _You’ve got this. This will work. It has to_.

“The stairs are through there, right?” she asks Jacobi, nodding toward a door that matches the schematics that she has long since memorized.

“Yep. I’ll radio you once security’s down. Happy climbing.”

“Happy security overriding,” she echoes him. “See you when all of this is over.”

Isabel pushes open the door and finds herself at the base of a staircase that winds upward, its flights crisscrossing their way up the building. After ensuring that her backpack is comfortably squared across her shoulders, she begins her ascent. The first couple sets of stairs pass by unremarkably, but the glimpse of a small security camera immediately catches her attention as she approaches the painted “1” on the cement wall that marks the ground floor of the building. She unholsters her gun and shatters its lens with a perfectly aimed shot before it has a chance to detect her

“Yeah, thanks for the warning there, Jacobi,” she mutters to herself.

She keeps her gun ready in her right hand as she continues her climb, bracing herself for the possibility of more cameras spaced throughout the floors of the building. Whether the cameras are a new security measure in the wake of the investigation of Goddard Futuristics or merely an oversight on Jacobi’s part remain a question for later. For now, she presses ahead up the mountain of stairs, grateful that she perpetually keeps herself in shape with every bend and stretch of her legs.

She encounters another camera outside the door that will lead her to the Special Projects floor, which further confirms that the additional surveillance is indeed a last-ditch attempt at keeping the most secretive and scandalous division of the company secure. Isabel aims a well-placed bullet at this camera as well, and despite the silencer on the gun she fears that the sudden noise of the shot will instantly reveal her presence.

With the broken camera looming above her, Isabel waits in the stairwell for Jacobi’s confirmation that he has disarmed security. The minutes pass by with agonizing slowness until she hears the buzz of static on the walkie-talkie. She scrambles to retrieve the device from her back pocket as Jacobi speaks.

“Lovelace, you read me?” he asks.

“Loud and clear, Jacobi,” she replies. “It’s about damn time. And thanks for warning me about the cameras on this staircase.”

“Shit, sorry. Those must be new. There wasn’t anything on the readouts about cameras on that route. I assume you took care of them?”

“Nothing a couple of bullets couldn’t fix,” Isabel says. “How’s security looking?”

“The system’s down, offices are unlocked, and all of the surveillance data throughout headquarters has been wiped. You’re good to go.”

“Awesome. I’ll meet you outside once I set the bomb. Lovelace out.”

She returns the walkie-talkie to her pocket and turns the handle on the door. It creaks open to reveal a hallway that appears far more corporate than the harsh industrial decor that has defined most of her route into the building. She keeps a hand on her gun as she moves through the hall with quiet steps, anticipating the moment when she encounters any sign of a patrolling security guard. Her frequent hyperalertness serves her well as she listens for footsteps that are not her own and prepares for the inevitable realization that she is not alone.

Isabel peers around the corner of the hall after she has passed by the conference rooms to arrive at a cluster of offices, and her cautious glance reveals a stationary guard standing sentinel outside the sealed and locked doors. She stays light on her feet as she approaches the guard, her body pressed against the wall as she remains just outside of his periphery. Once she is close enough to him she darts out, striking the back of his head with a swift blow from the handle of her gun. The guard crumples, dazed before he can catch a glimpse of her, and so she quickly drags him into one of the conference rooms to keep him out of the bomb’s detonation zone.

“Okay, let’s see if this security crack actually worked,” Isabel murmurs to herself when she has returned to the sealed-off offices. She tries the door, which would ordinarily require specific authorization for entry, and discovers to her relief that the electronic lock system has disengaged to allow her to enter the restricted area.

Isabel has never been inside Cutter’s office until now, not even during the orientation and training period that she had spent in Canaveral prior to the launch of the first Hephaestus mission, but having been in his territory before she has a fair idea of what to find inside his office. Instead of the pristine and creepily corporate interior that she expects, upon opening the door she sees that the office has been ransacked. The shelves that line the walls are empty, and various discarded papers and books that have not been taken away for further examination lie strewn across the room. Whoever cleared out the office has already done a fairly good job at tearing the place apart, and so the detonation of Jacobi’s bomb will merely be the icing on the cake of posthumous comeuppance.

She unzips her backpack and takes out the currently disarmed bomb. Explosive devices are not Isabel’s specialty, but her rudimentary knowledge combined with a quick tutorial from Jacobi is enough for her to properly arm the device. She sets it on Cutter’s desk and gets to work, priming it for detonation when its timer runs out in five minutes’ time, by which point she plans to be far away from this wing of the building. Five minutes, and then all of this will be over, the final act to close the Goddard Futuristics chapter of Isabel’s life.

“Fuck you, Cutter,” she says to the empty space of the office, flipping off the unoccupied desk that was once his domain. She shoulders her backpack, activates the countdown timer on the bomb, and walks out of the room without looking back.

Her exit strategy is not as meticulous as her route into the building had been, now that her foremost concern is time rather than surveillance. She uses the same maintenance staircase as before, taking the steps as quickly as she can as she hurries from landing to landing. Rather than descending into the tunnels and coming out in the R&D building, she leaves through another unremarkable side door. The exit in question is marked with a red emergency exit sign, and she braces herself to hear its alarm as she barrels through it. The loud blare will likely catch the attention of the night guards within the building, but soon they will have much bigger problems to deal with.

Isabel winds her way around the building to reach her planned rendezvous point with Jacobi. He stands there waiting for her, half-hidden under the cover of night and frowning at the echo of the emergency exit alarm from inside the building.

“Did anyone follow you?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

Isabel shakes her head. “I didn’t see any guards near the exit I used, and I made sure to book it over here. We’re good.”

“And with time to spare before detonation.” Jacobi gives an exhilarated breath of laughter. “Man, I wish I could see the looks on their faces in a minute or two. It would almost be worth the risk.”

“It won’t be long now,” Isabel replies, more to herself than to Jacobi. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides as she waits for the confirmation that her work here is finally done.

The distant explosion from within the bowels of the corporate building startles her despite her anticipation of the sound. The echo of additional alarms immediate follows, which Isabel should take as her cue to leave before the employees inside the building evacuate and notify higher authorities. Instead she basks in the satisfaction that accompanies the culmination of her vengeance against Goddard Futuristics

“Damn,” she says. “That son of a bitch really blew, didn’t it?”

“Yep.” Through the darkness, Isabel sees the gleam of pride in Jacobi’s eyes. “Wish there could have been a little more of a fiery inferno, but hey, you take what you can get. Now let’s get the hell out of here before the shitstorm starts.”

They hurry to Jacobi’s car and get in. The tires squeal against the asphalt, and soon they are headed off into the night, disappearing without a trace and leaving behind the rubble of their revenge.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re really sure about this roadtrip idea?” Isabel asks, frowning at the route and time estimate after entering Doug’s address into the GPS on Jacobi’s phone. “Twelve hours of almost non-stop driving is a _long_ time.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jacobi assures her. “We’ll split up the driving time, stop for some late-night food sometime in the next couple of hours, speed along in the fast lane until the morning… You know, all the usual roadtrip stuff.”

“I guess I can live with that.” Isabel settles into the passenger seat, getting herself comfortable for the first leg of their journey. “Hey, maybe we can even get some roadtrip games going. What was that one we all played when we were stuck in Hilbert’s old lab while Hera fixed the station’s air supply? The one that you hated?”

“Nope,” says Jacobi in swift response. “I am officially banning all roadtrip games in this car. I’ve done my time with them, believe me.”

“God, you’re such a spoilsport. Did fun word games murder your family or something?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jacobi mutters.

The highway and the dark sky stretch on in front of them as he drives onward. Isabel leans the side of her head against the window, mentally preparing herself for the long road ahead of her. She has endured longer journeys--nothing really compares to the several week trip through nearly eight light years of space to reach Wolf 359--but the lingering adrenaline from the Goddard infiltration leaves her with a restlessness that a twelve-hour car ride cannot subdue.

“You know, I used to fly planes for the Air Force before I ended up on the Hephaestus,” she says. “I could have stolen us a Goddard jet and we could have _really_ gotten out of here in style.”

Jacobi makes a skeptical noise. “Yeah, I doubt it. All of Goddard’s aircrafts are wired with AI autopilots. They’re not going to let some rando into the cockpit to override the controls to manual, even if you’re a real-deal pilot.”

“I know. It was just a thought.” Isabel takes out her phone. The notifications of multiple texts and missed calls light up the screen, but she ignores them for now. “Do you have an aux cord I can plug my phone into to play some music?”

“No, sorry. There might still be some mixed CDs in the center console, though.” Jacobi takes a hand off the steering wheel to indicate the console in question.

Isabel opens it up and searches through its contents. She selects a CD at random, figuring that they have plenty of time to listen to all of them before they reach their destination. After inserting it into the car’s CD player, she checks the tracklist to see what she has subjected them to. “Interesting mix of stuff here,” she says. “Led Zeppelin, Lorde, Arcade Fire, Queen… I’m trying to figure out if there’s a hidden theme or something.”

She expects Jacobi to make a clever quip in response, but instead she sees a trace of sadness on his face. “Yeah, um…” He clears his throat. “It’s just something that… Well, never mind. It’s not important.”

Isabel suspects there is more to it than that, but she lets the conversation turn elsewhere as the highway scenery rushes past the windows. Jacobi drives with an iron foot, zipping past the cars in the lanes beside him to leave them far behind as the miles fly by. His relentless pace does not stop until a little before three in the morning when they pull into a Waffle House outside of Jacksonville. The parking lot is almost completely empty, but an all-night restaurant is an all-night restaurant and Isabel is hungry enough to eat anywhere at this point.

“If we get murdered here, I’m blaming you,” she says as she and Jacobi make their way through the dark parking lot.

“Eh, your body would just remake itself anyway,” Jacobi replies. “You could probably single-handedly make this place the creepiest Waffle House in Florida if you wanted to.”

“Yeah, except for the part where I’m not sure how indestructible I am when I’m so far away from the star that can flare me back to life. And I’m _really_ not interested in testing that one out.”

Jacobi sighs. “And here _I_ thought I just pulled off a kick-ass revenge mission with someone who can put herself back together like a fucked-up Humpty Dumpty.”

Isabel waves a hand at him to be quiet as they approach the restaurant’s entrance. “Let’s maybe not talk about the whole alien thing where other people can hear, okay? And if you ever call me a ‘fucked-up Humpty Dumpty’ again, I _will_ hurt you.”

Once they are inside, they are seated at a booth by a bored waitress stuck in the quietest hours of the night shift. The only other customers that Isabel sees are a couple of stoned-looking guys in their early twenties on the other side of the dining area. A definite aura of three A.M. desperation surrounds the scene, with the hungry and weary seeking a place to get their all-day breakfast fix. It’s an indispensable part of the road trip experience, but no one could probably guess at the events that have led Isabel and Jacobi here.

Before consulting the menu, she finally investigates the bombardment of texts and missed calls that she has received since arriving in Florida. A text from Doug with a timestamp of 3:34 P.M. reads _Uhhh so you’ve been gone for a few hours and i havent heard anything from you so i just wanted to make sure you’re ok???_ , followed by another at 4:26 that says _Dammit isabel text me back_ , with an added _please_ immediately following. The next series of messages comes from Renée: _Doug says you’ve been gone for most of the day and he doesn’t know where you went. Please text me back so I know you’re okay_ at 5:07 P.M., _Hera says you went to Canaveral and are doing something with Jacobi? I don’t know why you didn’t tell me about this but please don’t do anything stupid_ at 5:52 (immediately followed by _Hera also says to tell you she’s sorry for telling us about where you went_ ), and finally _I’m getting really worried. Call me as soon as you can_ at 7:38.

With a sigh of irritation at how difficult it is to disappear for the better part of a day in the age of instant communication, Isabel goes into her voicemail to listen to the single voice message that has been left amidst the sea of missed calls. “Hey, Isabel,” says Renée in the recorded message. “It’s a little after nine-thirty, and we still haven’t heard anything from you so… I don’t know if you haven’t be able to use your phone or what, but I would _really_ appreciate it if you could at least let me know that you’re okay. I…” Her words trail off into a quiet, trembling breath. “We’re all worried about you. I don’t know what you and Jacobi are planning to do, but I… I wish you could have told me before you left. That you could have _trusted_ me.” Another pause comes through the phone, carrying with it a multitude of unspoken emotions. “Just please call me soon, okay?”

“God _damn_ it,” Isabel murmurs after she has disconnected from her voicemail.

“Everything okay?” Jacobi asks with a cool lack of concern, continuing to read his menu as if he has been paying little attention to Isabel and her communications from home.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Turns out people worry about you when you disappear to Florida without telling them. And Renée’s being very--well, _Renée_ about it.”

“Huh,” says Jacobi. “People worrying about you. What a novel concept.”

Isabel cannot determine which direction his sarcasm comes from, whether he is expressing surprise that her friends are worried about her or going for a more self-deprecatory angle. Instead of responding to him, she composes a text to Renée. _Everything’s fine, I’m with Jacobi and we’re driving back home from Canaveral right now_ , she says. _Sorry for not calling earlier, I was busy. I’ll be home this afternoon. Talk to you soon._

She sends the message and then puts her phone away, not expecting any further contact until a few hours from now when Renée wakes up. “You know,” she says, picking up her menu to read it, “it’s been a long time since I’ve done the late-night restaurant thing. It’s not like there are many places like this in deep space.”

“Oh, well, you’ve been missing out,” Jacobi replies. “You haven’t really lived until Kepler is force-feeding you hashbrowns at one in the morning after you’ve spent the entire day blowing shit up for him. I remember there was this one time when Maxwell hadn’t eaten anything all day, and then she devoured a huge stack of pancakes at an IHOP. Like ‘unhinged her jaw and swallowed them whole’ devoured. I think even Kepler was impressed.”

He speaks the names of his former SI-5 comrades nonchalantly, but below the surface of his casual anecdote lies the pain of complicated emotions. A heavy pause follows his words, as if he is unsure of whether he should have brought up Kepler and Maxwell. Neither of them had been Isabel’s favorite people in the universe, especially not the one who had shot her in the head, but she _does_ understand the pain of losing people she cares about to betrayal, death, or both.

“I’m… I’m sorry about Maxwell,” she offers hesitantly. Now is probably not the best time to give condolences for a death that happened almost a year ago, but there is never a _good_ time for something like this. “I know the two of you were close.”

Jacobi lays down his menu, focusing his full attention on Isabel for the first time during their conversation. “You’re not,” he says. “I mean, _your_ friend was the one who killed her. But thanks anyway.”

The sound of a cleared throat and the inquiry of “Can I get you some drinks to start?” alerts them to the presence of their waitress, who now stands at the table looking thoroughly unperturbed by the nature of the discussion that she has interrupted. They go ahead and order their full meal: enough waffles, bacon, and hashbrowns to last them well into tomorrow, along with a cup of coffee for Isabel to keep her awake through the rest of the night when she takes over driving after this stop. She probably won’t need the aid of caffeine thanks to her alien biology, but having that extra kick of energy will help her on a purely psychological level.

“So, ‘Renée,’ huh?” says Jacobi after the waitress has departed.

“What?”

“When you said that Minkowski had called you, you called her ‘Renée.’ It’s not the first time you’ve done it, either. Kind of a personal way to refer to her, don’t you think?”

“We’re not on the Hephaestus anymore,” Isabel replies. “There wasn’t much need to keep up with protocol and all that after we came back. It was weird at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“But we don’t use first names with each other,” he points out. “What, am I not cool enough for your first name basis club?”

“Nah,” she says, a smile playing at her lips. “It’s just because you’re an asshole.”

Jacobi laughs. “Fair enough.”

He checks his phone in an idle action, now that he no longer has a menu to keep him occupied. Isabel stirs some sugar into the cup of coffee that the waitress has poured her and takes a sip. The taste isn’t great, but anything is a step up from the Hephaestus’s infamous seaweed-infused beverages.

“So how long have you been totally into her?” asks Jacobi. “Minkowski, I mean.”

Isabel nearly spits out the sip of coffee in her mouth, but she manages to force it down with an inelegant cough. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she says. “What is this, high school? Since when do you care about that sort of thing, anyway?”

“I don’t.” Jacobi slides his phone into his pocket and returns his attention to her. “Good to know that you’re not denying it, though. I might be better at this than I thought.”

Isabel groans in frustration. “Look, just because you came out to me while we were trying to break out of Goddard captivity does _not_ mean I’m going to spill the details of my love life to you in a restaurant at three A.M.”

“So there _are_ details,” Jacobi teases. “Do tell.”

Isabel throws her empty sugar packet at him. It lands in his glass of water, and he fishes it out with a sigh. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “I’ll leave you alone. Jeez.”

True to his word, he lets the subject drop while they wait for their meals to arrive. Isabel doesn’t realize how hungry she is until she has a full plate of food in front of her. Dinner feels like a distant memory to her as she digs into her waffles, letting their fluffy texture and the sweetness of the syrup fill her mouth. It’s almost comical how quickly the conversation between her and Jacobi turns to silence as they devote their full focus to eating as if they have not had a meal in days. Instead there is only the scraping of utensils against their plates, followed by the eventual battle for the last of their shared side of hashbrowns. Isabel emerges victorious from that conflict, smirking in triumph as she takes the last few forkfuls for herself.

“I still think that was unfair,” grumbles Jacobi after he has conceded defeat.

“You’re just a sore loser.” Isabel takes a sip of coffee and surveys the empty plates in front of them. “What do you think? Should we hang out here for a while until the waitstaff gets sick of us, or should we hit the road?”

“As fun as the late-night breakfast life has been, I’m all for getting out of Florida as soon as possible,” Jacobi replies. “Finish up your coffee, then we’ll pay the bill and get the hell out of here.”

The sky remains dark with the last hours of the night when they leave the restaurant and return to Jacobi’s car. Isabel settles into the driver’s seat, adjusting everything to her liking before pulling out of the parking lot. Miles of distance stretch ahead of her once she gets onto the highway, and after Jacobi has fallen asleep about an hour later, she has nothing but her thoughts and the collection of mixed CDs to accompany her. Between her cup of coffee and her usual reduced need for sleep she is not worried about drifting off while on the road as the clock ticks toward daylight, and so her only enemy is boredom rather than tiredness.

Her phone rings a little after six o’clock, vibrating insistently before she reaches blindly to retrieve it. She does not need to check the screen to know who is calling. Only one person would be contacting her with such urgency at this hour, starting her day as Isabel continues hers.

“Hey, Renée,” Isabel says into her phone, keeping her voice quiet so that she does not wake Jacobi. The music coming from the car’s speakers is not loud enough to disrupt the call, but she reduces its volume regardless. “Sorry I didn’t call earlier, but it was three in the morning and I didn’t want to--”

“What the _hell_ have you been doing?” Renée interrupts her. “You don’t get to just disappear without warning and fall out of contact for the rest of the day until you text me in the dead of night. Do you have _any_ idea how worried I’ve been?”

“Yeah, good morning to you too,” Isabel grumbles. She grips the steering wheel tightly with her free hand to maintain the car’s steady path. “Jesus. You could at least sound a _little_ happier to hear from me.”

“Not until you explain yourself.” There’s a hard edge in Renée’s response that Isabel immediately recognizes as her Commander voice, the one that demands a swift answer for a foolish course of action. “Not until you tell me why you couldn’t trust me with what you were doing.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” says Isabel. She already knows it’s a weak excuse, and she can easily imagine the look of disapproval on Renée’s face. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend that it was the best decision I’ve ever made. But I didn’t want to get you involved. You’ve been through enough. You’ve _done_ enough.”

“And what did you think I was going to do when Doug called me in a panic yesterday afternoon asking if I’d heard from you?” Renée retorts. “Was I supposed to worry _less_ when I found out from Hera that you’d gone to Canaveral to do something with Jacobi? Don’t lie to me. You were only thinking about yourself and what _you_ wanted.”

“That’s not true, I--” Isabel breaks off into a frustrated breath. The accusation of selfishness pierces straight through her, because she cannot deny that there may be some truth to it. “You would have tried to stop me even if I told you,” she says.

“I might have understood.” Renée’s voice turns softer, its hard edge receding into something more vulnerable. An uncomfortable pause passes between them, filled with unspoken complications. “I have to get ready for work,” she says finally. “We’ll finish this conversation when you get home. Where are you right now?”

“Somewhere in South Carolina, I think. ETA says around two P.M. as long as we don’t hit traffic or make any long stops, so I’ll definitely be back by the time you get home from work.” Isabel hesitates, unsure of whether she should goad Renée into not leaving their conversation unfinished, but she ultimately decides to leave it alone. Renée does not need to begin her day with a deeper descent into a full-blown argument. “I guess I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Drive safe,” Renée replies. “I’ll make sure Doug and Hera know when to expect you.”

They say their final farewells, and then Isabel ends the call. When she sets down her phone on the center console, she notices Jacobi’s movement and vague alertness. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“’S okay.” Jacobi yawns and reclines his seat a little further. “Was that Minkowski on the phone?”

“Yeah. She has some opinions about what happened. To put it lightly.”

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Jacobi teases.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up. Go back to sleep, or I’ll make you entertain me with roadtrip games.”

Jacobi groans. He reaches behind him to the haphazard arrangement of his belongings in the back seat and finds a pillow. With no further words to Isabel, he makes himself as comfortable as he can in the passenger seat and closes his eyes. It’s not long before the sound of his snores fill the car once more, mingling with the faint background noise of the music and the car’s movement.

Now that Isabel is left alone with her thoughts again, a vague sense of nervous anticipation floods through her at the prospect of what awaits her at home. She has expected Renée to not fully approve of her actions, but actually _hearing_ her disapproving words is an entirely different matter. She hopes that a full workday will give Renée’s anger time to fade, because otherwise they will soon discover how well they can work through a fight barely a week into their fledgling relationship. They have endured worse disagreements, of course, especially when their first few months of knowing each other were mostly defined by tension and distrust, but things are different between them now.

The sun is high in the sky by the time that Jacobi wakes for longer than a few-minute interlude in the middle of deeper slumber, and yet Isabel feels like she is no closer to home. She is relieved to have company again, because the mind-numbing boredom of driving for hours has worn on her. The thoughts that fill her mind feel like they might spill out at any moment while she has nothing to distract her, and she is not ready to resort to talking to herself to keep sane.

“You’d better be ready to switch drivers soon,” she says to Jacobi as he yawns and stretches. “I’ll probably be stopping to pee and fill up the gas tank in the next hour. You can take the last few hours of the drive, and we’ll call things even.”

“Ugh. At least you’re giving me time to wake up a little first.” He adjusts his seat into a more upright position. “How’s the drive been?”

“Boring as hell. Every time I think that we must be an hour closer by now, it turns out it’s only been like twenty minutes. It’s like having a constant loop of ‘Are we there yet?’ playing in my head.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re an alien who doesn’t need as much sleep as regular humans,” Jacobi says. “You get to drive through the asscrack of dawn and into the morning while I get my beauty rest.”

Isabel gives a brief snort of laughter. “You slept for, what, barely five hours? That may be an incredibly good night of sleep for me, but I don’t think it’s enough to count as ‘beauty rest’ for you.” She puts air quotes around the words as well as she can while gripping the steering wheel.

“Pfft. Shows what you know. Five hours of sleep has been pretty average for me for a while. You know, because of the whole ‘multiple traumas’ thing. Sometimes I…” He trails off into an uncharacteristically hesitant silence.

“What?” Isabel prompts him.

“Well, I know that I didn’t come back from that little doppelganger adventure in the module as an alien,” he says. “Because I wasn’t affected by the psi-waves during the contact event and because Pryce was able to use her freaky mind control shit on me. But sometimes I think, well, maybe I’m not as good at dodging huge-ass engine explosions as I think I am. Maybe none of us made it off the Hephaestus alive, and now we’re _all_ alien duplicates. There’s no way to know, right? Besides maybe some sleep deprivation and the possibility of functional immortality if one of us ends up dying horrifically or something.”

Silence fills the car. Even the background noise of the music has faded out, until the CD player hums and whirs with the sound of the CD restarting its playback from the beginning. Isabel casts a sidelong glance at the unchanging expression on Jacobi’s face, unsure if his words are serious or not. She tests the waters with a quiet chuckle, one that she can easily write off if she has misinterpreted his genuine concerns for his usual deadpan sarcasm. To her relief, he soon bursts into laughter, and she joins in until the car is filled with the sound of their amusement.

“Jesus,” Jacobi says after he has regained himself. “Our lives are kind of ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they really are,” replies Isabel. She hesitates before adding, “Do you really think you might be an alien, or were you just messing with me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just more fucked up by everything than I want to admit.” He laughs again, more ruefully this time. “But hey, I guess I’ll fit right in with the rest of you, huh?”

“Yep, we’re pretty much the house of ‘I spent way too much time in space and now I don’t know what a normal life looks like.’ Gotta stick together in that, right?” With less wry humor and more sincerity in her voice, Isabel then adds, “Just, if you ever _do_ need to have a serious talk about something, don’t be afraid to do it. We’re all trying to be a _little_ better at not keeping everything bottled up inside until it comes out at the worst possible moment.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. But thanks.” Jacobi takes out his phone and frowns at the screen. “Oh boy, looks like I’ve got an email from Goddard. Let’s see if they’ve noticed the little adventure we had last night.” He clears his throat and reads, “Dear employees of Goddard Futuristics: It has come to our attention that an explosive device was detonated in one of the unused offices in the corporate building last night. Damage was limited mostly to that office and the surrounding area, and no suspect or motive has yet been found. Please be advised that there will be additional security procedures in place for all employees entering Goddard Futuristics facilities for the foreseeable future as a preventative measure against any further incidents. The safety of our employees is always an utmost priority and we apologize for any inconvenience… blah blah blah.”

Isabel gives a snort of laughter. “‘The safety of our employees’? _That’s_ a good one. Where was that concern when they were leaving people to die out on their space stations, huh?” At Jacobi’s murmur that resembles a noncommittal _I don’t know_ , she adds, “Well, at least they don’t seem to be onto us. Are there any media reports about what happened?”

“Hmm. Probably not,” Jacobi replies. “With all the bad press that the company’s been getting lately I think they’re going to be eager to hush this up. They’ll just say the explosion was an electrical fault or something if the media gets wind of anything weird going on.”

“And you’re sure they won’t be able to figure out it was us?” Isabel glances over in his direction before returning her attention to the road. “Serious answer. I don’t want to get home and have the Goddard secret police waiting for us.”

“Trust me, if they knew it was us, they would have had a team on top of us before we even left Canaveral. And we’d probably be super dead by now.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Isabel mutters. “Let’s hope we really are home free.”

She drives onward until they stop at a gas station around half an hour later, where they linger for a few extra minutes to use the bathroom, stretch their legs, and stock up on enough convenience store food to pass for a meal. When they’re back on the road, Isabel sits comfortably in the passenger seat, snacking on a bag of chips as she checks her phone. She has a recent text from Doug that reads _Glad you’re ok, renee was kinda having a heart attack worrying about you last night_. Isabel responds with _I think she’s pissed at me so that’ll be an adventure once we’re both home_ before pulling up a feed of recent news stories. She skims through the headlines, searching for anything related to Goddard Futuristics among the usual mess of current events.

“Nothing about Goddard in the news yet,” she says. “I guess you were right about them covering it up. Lucky for us, I guess.”

Her phone buzzes with a new text. _Hurricane minkowski, ready to make landfall!!!_ , it reads, followed by multiple storm cloud emojis. Isabel rolls her eyes at Doug’s light-hearted response and replies _Ugh don’t even joke_. She then puts her phone away, leaning back in her seat and trying not to think about how she will have to explain herself when she sees Renée again. No matter how much she convinces herself otherwise, she cannot shake the perhaps completely irrational fear that she has ruined everything with her impulsive actions.

“So, are we there yet?” she asks.

“Are we--oh my God, Lovelace, we’ve been on the highway for less than ten minutes,” Jacobi says. “Is this what the next four hours are going to be? Where were these questions when _you_ were driving, huh?”

“I was in control of the car then. It was different.” Isabel reaches into her bag of chips, grabs a handful, and stuffs them into her mouth. She swallows and then adds, “Now you get to deal with me bugging you. Sucks to be you.”

“You’re lucky I’ve saved your ass so many times, you know,” Jacobi grumbles.

“Actually, I remember you saving my ass exactly _one_ time.” Isabel holds up a finger for emphasis. “And yeah, I’m sure it was awesome and everything, but you really shouldn’t hype yourself.”

“I absolutely _can_ hype myself, because I’m wonderful.” Jacobi smirks. “ _And_ I also have greater patience than that of a five-year-old, which is more than I can say for anyone else in this car.”

“Hey, watch yourself,” warns Isabel, although she keeps her tone light and teasing. She reaches for the controls on the CD player to take out the CD that has been repeating its playback since before their brief stop. “Okay, let’s get some new tunes going,” she says, pulling out the next CD from the pile. “Ooh, this one’s titled ‘Embarrassing 90s Songs.’ _That_ sounds like fun.”

Jacobi groans. “Oh my God, I didn’t think that one was still in here. Maxwell made it for me as a joke.”

“Admit it, you probably still genuinely like most of these,” says Isabel. She scans the tracklist, handwritten in an untidy scrawl that must be Maxwell’s. “God, what a blast from the past. This is like my entire preteen and teenage years on a single CD.”

The remainder of the drive passes by a little faster now that Isabel has both music and conversation to entertain her, with the stories swapped between her and Jacobi born from the music of their most formative years. By the time the clock ticks over into the early afternoon a few hours later, they have entered the final leg of their journey, and it won’t be long until Isabel starts to recognize the scenery. Returning home was never supposed to be this strange for her, she thinks as the car reaches a familiar stretch of highway. Now that the adrenaline from last night has faded away, she faces a persistent uncertainty about her actions--what Renée will say when they talk more in-depth than a quick phone conversation, and whether what she did will truly be enough to set herself free from Goddard and its ghosts.

“So this is home, huh?” Jacobi says when they arrive at the house and pull into the driveway.

“Yep. Home sweet home.” Isabel opens the car door and stretches out her legs before setting her feet down on solid ground. “Ready to start being a real person again, free from Goddard Futuristics forever?”

She turns back to look at him. He laughs, a smile of relief crossing his face. “Hell,” he says, “it’s about time.”


	9. Chapter 9

Isabel opens the front door and steps into the house. “Hera?” she calls out as she enters the living room. “I’m back.”

“I know,” comes the sound of Hera’s response. “Exterior cameras, remember? I saw the car pull into the driveway.” The room’s camera whirs slightly as it focuses on the new presences in the room. “Hi, Jacobi.”

“Hey, Hera,” he replies. He glances around the space of the living room and the adjoining kitchen. “How does this place compare to the Hephaestus?”

“Oh, you know. A huge downgrade tech-wise, but fewer systems to take care of means more time to relax without worrying about something going wrong. And I’d much rather be here than stuck in a lab.”

Isabel sets down her minimal amount of luggage. “Where’s Doug?” she asks.

“He’s on his way downstairs right now.” The sound of footsteps on the stairs further confirms Hera’s words. “Anyway, I’m assuming your, uh, _mission_ went well? It sounds like it was quite the operation.”

“Ah, it was nothing, right, Lovelace?” Jacobi nods in her direction.

“Just some light infiltration and bomb detonation,” says Isabel. “Super casual.”

“Yeah, that sounds super _not_ casual to me,” comes the sound of Doug’s voice as he enters the room. “More like a badass action movie sequence. Which, you know, is kinda exactly what I’d expect from you two.”

Isabel turns to face him. When he approaches her and pulls her into a quick hug, she does not shy back from his touch. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he says before she has a chance to respond to him. “I mean, I’m not going to yell at you for leaving or anything, because I don’t really know what all of this was about, but you _did_ have us worried for a while.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Isabel gives him a friendly touch on the shoulder before stepping back from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought home another houseguest? You said that everyone’s welcome to come hang out here.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Doug turns his attention to Jacobi. “Nice to see you again, uh… Jacobi? Daniel? Sorry, I’ve gotten so used to calling these guys by their first names that the whole last name basis thing is kind of weird to me now. Do you have a preference, or--?”

“No, either is fine,” Jacobi replies. “I don’t really care.”

“Right.” Doug looks Jacobi up and down as if he is sizing him up. “I think I’m gonna go with Daniel. And I’m glad you’re finally joining us. It’s like the gang’s all here now.”

“Just for a week or two,” says Jacobi. “Until I decide what I’m doing next.”

“That’s pretty much what we’re all doing here,” Hera points out. “You’ll fit right in.”

Jacobi gives a brief laugh, “Thanks, Hera. Now, how about you losers help me unload the car?”

His transition from genuine to playfully abrasive brings a smile to Isabel’s lips with its predictability. It only takes a few trips for all of them to carry the majority of Jacobi’s essential belongings into the house, and everything else that he won’t need during the next couple of weeks remains locked in the trunk of his car. With both spare bedrooms in the house currently occupied, Jacobi instead takes over a corner of the living room, stacking boxes next to the couch that will serve as his bed for as long as he stays here. There’s a distinct sense of Jacobi being a stray that they have taken in, but Isabel supposes that in a way _everyone_ in this house could be considered a stray, gravitating toward the people that they have endured so much with instead of settling back into their old lives.

“You guys got any plans for the afternoon?” Doug asks after they have finished. “We can, I dunno, hang out or something. You can tell me about the adventure you two had last night.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I think I’m going to try to nap for a few hours,” Isabel says. “I haven’t slept in--” She mentally tallies up the time. “--oh, God, over thirty hours. If I’m not down here by the time Renée gets home, call up to me or something.”

She heads upstairs. Upon entering her bedroom, she closes the shades to block out the sunlight and then immediately collapses onto the bed. She lies there with her face pressed into the pillow until she eventually shifts into a more comfortable position. Her exhaustion soon gives way to light dozing despite her racing thoughts. She wakes up every half-hour or so, never falling into a deep sleep. and a vague uneasiness lurks just below the surface of her mind. She does not examine the thoughts too closely, but the quick beat of her heart when she thinks about how soon Renée will arrive home from work gives her a clear sense of where at least _some_ of her anxieties lie.

“Isabel?” comes the soft sound of Hera’s voice, rousing her from her half-sleep. “Sorry for waking you up, but you said to let you know when Renée gets home, and she just pulled into the driveway.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hera.”

Isabel rises from her bed and rubs the grogginess out of her eyes. She makes her way downstairs just in time to see Renée enter through the front door. Their eyes meet, and Isabel barely has the chance to offer her a nonchalant “Hey” before Renée has crossed the length of the room and pulled her into a hug. They do not kiss, not when Doug and Jacobi are in the room with them, but Renée’s tight embrace tells Isabel everything she needs to know. Perhaps she has already received the worst of whatever lecture Renée has for her, and now all that remains is relief.

“Where’s _my_ hug?” Jacobi asks in mock offense after Isabel and Renée have pulled apart.

Renée turns her attention toward him. “Nice to see you too, Jacobi,” she says, offering him nothing more than a friendly nod of greeting.

“You know, all hugs aside, there’s still something very important that you haven’t given me yet,” he replies. At Renée’s frown of confusion, he adds, “I’m still waiting on that twenty bucks that you owe me.”

“Twenty--oh, for God’s sake,” Renée sighs in exasperation. “You _really_ aren’t going to let that bet go, are you?”

“Nope. I didn’t almost get myself blown up to go this long without getting my payout for it. Now pay up, Minkowski.”

“Ugh, fine.” She reaches into her purse to retrieve her wallet and pulls out a twenty dollar bill. “Here. Go nuts.”

Doug looks between the two of them in confusion. “Was that about something that happened in space, or--”

“Don’t worry about it, Doug,” says Renée as Jacobi gleefully pockets the money. “It’s a _very_ long story.” She then rounds on Isabel, who meets her eyes with an unwavering gaze. “Now. _You_. I want you to tell me _everything_ about what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours and why you couldn’t trust me with what you were doing.”

“I told you before,” Isabel replies with all of the patience she can muster. “I didn’t want to get you involved--”

“Bullshit,” Renée retorts. The harshness of her language sets off a warning bell in Isabel’s head about how deadly serious she is. “I’m never going to be ‘not involved.’ We’re a _team_ , and you’re always going to be part of my crew. That means not going off and pulling reckless stunts like this.”

“I’m not your crew anymore,” says Isabel, not backing down from Renée’s intensity. “This isn’t the Hephaestus, and even if it was, I’m still free to make my own choices about how I deal with loose ends. And this was something that I needed to do without you.”

“But I still don’t understand why you couldn’t _tell_ me. You could have been a hell of a lot clearer about what you were doing instead of getting Hera to cover for you.”

“Oh no no no, don’t drag me into this,” Hera interjects. If she had a body, Isabel is sure that she would be holding up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I was just the messenger. I was always a little skeptical of the idea myself.”

Isabel huffs in frustration but says nothing further. In the silence that falls, she hears Doug’s muttered aside to Jacobi: “Jeez, I don’t know whether I should get popcorn or get outta here.”

“Definitely popcorn,” Jacobi replies.

“We should continue this discussion _privately_ ,” says Renée pointedly. She throws an irritated glare in Doug and Jacobi’s direction. “Both of you, get out.”

“Um, technically this is my house, so--” Doug breaks off and shrinks back at Renée’s gaze. “But maybe this would be a good time to give Daniel a tour of the upstairs? Yes? No? Maybe?” He throws helpless glances from Jacobi to Isabel as if hoping that one of them will back him up.

“Hey, I don’t care what you do as long as you’re not making a spectator sport out of whatever this is,” says Isabel. She gestures upstairs. “The stairs are right over there.”

With a reluctant sigh from Jacobi and some insistent pushing from Doug, they head upstairs, leaving Isabel and Renée alone in the living room. “You too, Hera,” Renée says, with the reminder that no one in this house is ever truly alone unless Hera is diverting her attention from the room. “Please.”

“Already on it,” replies Hera with the unmistakable sound of someone who is eager to remove herself from a situation.

Isabel watches as Renée paces frustrated circles in front of the couch. “Okay, let’s have it,” she says. “Nobody’s listening in. Tell me what this is _really_ about.”

Renée halts her restless steps. “You were reckless. You rushed off without any regard to my feelings and how I would react. Although,” she gives a humorless laugh, “I don’t know why I should have expected anything different. You _never_ look before you leap. You just _go_. And I respect that in some situations, but when it means throwing yourself into danger when we spent so long being in an almost _constant_ state of danger? I’m sorry, Isabel, but of all the stupid things you can do, that’s probably at the top of the list.”

“Well, then what was I supposed to do?” Isabel throws her hands up in frustration. “What would it have changed if I told you? Would you have told me not to go? Would you have tried to shoehorn yourself into a carefully planned operation just because you can’t handle not being in charge of something? Because you felt _left out_?”

“This isn’t about feeling left out. Do you _really_ think I would be immature enough to focus on that?” Renée huffs out an irritated breath. “This is about you rushing off into who knows what--probably something with explosions, since Jacobi was involved--without even saying goodbye. I thought I meant more than you than that, but obviously not.”

“Oh my God, enough with the guilt-tripping.” Isabel collapses down onto the couch with a groan. “You know I can take care of myself. I’ve done a ton of dangerous things since we’ve met, with and without your knowledge. What’s so different now that you’re suddenly getting touchy about a little bit of light revenge?”

“Because I love you!”

The words ring out across the room in the silence that follows. Renée’s eyes go wide, as if she has only just realized what she said. She sinks down to sit next to Isabel on the couch and buries her face in her hands. The echo of her words swells within Isabel until she finds herself laughing in relief, because of _course_ that is what this is: the intersection of concern, compassion, and desire that has led to such a dramatic declaration. Isabel does not shy away from the similar emotion that blooms within her, and instead she embraces the dual joys and frustrations that come with falling in love with someone.

“Sorry,” she says when Renée lifts her head with a frown of _What the hell are you doing?_ “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just--I love you too, you idiot.”

She shifts closer to Renée on the couch and lays a hand on her arm. Renée leans into her touch, and Isabel takes the motion as an invitation to hug her close. She feels the waver in her breath and the rise and fall of her chest against her body as the tense anger between them fades into a clearer picture of why their emotions have flared so strongly.

“For the record,” says Isabel, not yet breaking their embrace, “I _am_ sorry for making you worry. You know that was never my intention, even if I didn’t go about it the right way.”

“I know.” Renée lingers in her arms before pulling away. She brushes her fingers against Isabel’s knuckles before entwining their hands. “I know.”

“So…” Isabel gives her a questioning look. “We good?”

Renée nods. “Yeah. I didn’t mean for things to get so heated. I just--I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you without me being there. Not after everything that we’ve been through together.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Isabel says. “And hey, I guess we can cross ‘dramatic love confessions’ off our list now.”

The slight upturn of a smile crosses Renée’s lips. She squeezes Isabel’s hand in a brief gesture and then leans into her to kiss her. The kiss conveys all of the emotions that they do not speak, relief and love rolled into one. When they withdraw from each other. Isabel brushes her thumb against Renée’s lower lip, feeling the exhale of her breath against her skin in their shared moment of continued intimacy.

“Just out of curiosity,” says Renée after Isabel has pulled her hand away, “what exactly _did_ you and Jacobi do?”

“I… _may_ have snuck into Goddard headquarters and planted a small bomb in Cutter’s old office.” At Renée’s mutter of “Jesus Christ,” Isabel adds, “Hey, you asked. And the harpoon sticking out of Cutter’s chest says that you’re _really_ not in a place to judge me.”

“That was different,” Renée points out. “I don’t think there was ever going to be a version of events that didn’t end with him bleeding out somewhere. If I hadn’t done it, I’m sure you would have picked up the slack for me.”

“Well, now that I’ve had double the chance to give a last ‘Fuck you’ to him, I _think_ it’s out of my system,” says Isabel. “Anyway, we should probably let everyone else back in here, huh? Since we’re not, you know, yelling at each other anymore.”

“Provided they’re all not listening in already.” Renée turns her attention to one of Hera’s cameras. “Hera? You can stop blocking us out now. And tell Doug and Jacobi that they don’t have to awkwardly hang out upstairs anymore.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hera replies. “It was getting _really_ hard to resist the temptation of checking in. I guess this means you two worked things out?”

“Yeah.” Isabel allows herself one final brush of her fingers against Renée’s hand before they move apart to establish more distance between them on the couch. “Everything’s good.”

The light sound of a laugh comes through the speaker system. “You two are _so_ adorable, you know.”

“Shut up, Hera,” they reply in unison.

Doug and Jacobi soon return downstairs, and their conversation swiftly steers toward their plans for dinner. When they eventually sit down to eat the takeout sandwiches that they have ordered, it feels strange to have four people around the table now that Jacobi has become a temporary member of their unofficial family. A year ago, this gathering would have had a very different emotional aura around it, but now there is nothing but warm laughter and pleasant conversation between them while they eat.

After dinner, Doug puts something on the TV as usual, but Isabel is too restless from spending over twelve hours in a car to sit down and watch a movie or TV show. She takes a shower, rinsing off everything that has happened over the past day and a half, and then flits around the house taking care of various tasks and chores that have fallen by the wayside while preparing for her trip to Cape Canaveral. Usually she only achieves this level of productivity in the middle of the night when she decides that she might as well use her insomnia to get things done, but now she surprises even herself with the level of industriousness that she achieves after such a long day.

A few hours later, she is in her room putting away the load of laundry that she has recently done when she hears the quiet tap of a knock against the doorframe. She turns toward the source of the noise to see Renée standing in the open doorway, not yet dressed for bed in contrast to what Isabel would usually expect at this time of night.

“Hey,” Renée says. “You’re not too busy right now, are you?”

“Nope,” replies Isabel. She puts away the last of her clothes and closes the dresser drawers. “Come on in.”

Renée enters the room, and Isabel raises her eyebrows at how she immediately closes the door behind her to shut them off from the rest of the house. She sits down on Isabel’s bed, no longer as hesitant to share her personal space as she was on previous occasions. Isabel joins her, curling one leg in close to her while the other hangs off the edge of the bed.

“What’s up?” she asks. “Anything you need?”

“No. I just… It’s been a weird thirty-six hours. With you being gone, and then the kind-of sort-of fight we had--”

“Our very first fight,” says Isabel. “Guess we’re really speeding things along.”

“We were at odds with each other for months when we first met. I don’t think we get to count today as our first fight.” Renée points out. “Anyway, I thought it would be nice to spend some time with you. Time that doesn’t involving having to kick everyone else out of the room.”

“Can’t wait to schedule another date, huh?” Isabel brushes her fingers against one of Renée’s hands in search of further contact. “We’ve still got to kick Hera out, though. Kinda feel bad that we have to keep doing that.”

“I’m on my way out right now, I promise,” Hera assures them, speaking as if she is physically rushing out of the room rather than directing her focus elsewhere. “And don’t feel bad. I’d feel weird looking in on your, um, private moments.”

“Thank you, Hera,” says Renée. She gives Hera a few seconds to fully disengage from the room, and then she moves closer to Isabel on the bed. “Right. So. Maybe this can be like a quick date night in? I should probably go to bed sooner rather than later, but for now…”

“Mm, I think we’re one bottle of wine short of calling it a proper date night,” Isabel says. “And look at you, staying up late to hang out with me. What _will_ your sleep schedule say about that?”

“It’ll say ‘You didn’t sleep well last night either, so try not to make a habit out of it.’” Renée entwines their fingers more tightly together and brings them to her lips in a tender gesture. “I swear I’m not trying to sound overly sentimental, or, I don’t know, hopelessly attached. But I… Well, I missed you when you were gone, even though it wasn’t for very long. After spending all that time in such close quarters on the Hephaestus, there’s always something that doesn’t feel right when you’re not in the same space as I am.”

“We didn’t see each other for over eight weeks when I was gone on vacation,” Isabel replies. “And before then we weren’t exactly seeing each other regularly either, after all of the initial business had been taken care of when we first came back to Earth.”

“I know. And it was weird. I feel like... I don’t know. That we’re meant to always be at each other’s side. I just can’t believe it took us this long to figure it out.”

“No one said we’re the best at dealing with feelings,” says Isabel. “And I think that definitely qualifies as overly sentimental. In a good way, I promise.”

At the scowl that crosses Renée’s lips, Isabel leans in to kiss it away. What begins as a simple kiss soon deepens as they give in to the hunger and roughness of passion with the scramble of hands and the graze of teeth. Renée shifts position to straddle herself across Isabel’s lap, their bodies pressed flush against each other as Isabel presses kisses to Renée’s jaw and along the line of her throat. She smiles against her skin at the giggle of appreciation that she receives in response. It’s a very un-Renée-like sound, and it proves that she feels truly comfortable letting loose in Isabel’s presence.

“So,” Isabel begins. One of her hands rests on the curve of Renée’s hip, and she longs to reach further down and grab her ass. “I know you said you wanted to take things slow, but…”

“Yeah,” says Renée before she can finish. “I, um. I think I’ve changed my mind about that.”

“I’ll just follow your lead, then.” Restraint is not usually Isabel’s strong suit, but in this situation she is more than happy to let Renée define the progression of their intimacy. “We’ll see where things go.”

Renée murmurs in agreement and then leans in to kiss her again. Her tongue pushes its way back into Isabel’s mouth, and one of her hands slides down with minimal hesitation to cup around one of her clothed breasts. A quiet breath of satisfaction leaves Isabel’s lips, lost against Renée’s mouth as they continue their kiss. The pull of desire within her grows, and she wants _more_ of Renée, to feel her touch against her bare skin. She wonders what it will feel like to have her mouth on every inch of her body, but she exercises patience for now.

They eventually break their kiss to catch their breaths. Isabel brushes her fingers against the bottom hem of Renée’s shirt, and when Renée nods in encouragement they work together to pull the shirt over her head. It’s not long until Isabel’s shirt comes off as well, bare skin pressed against bare skin as their lips meet again. A few searing kisses later, Isabel reaches around to unclasp Renée’s bra, and she takes a moment to admire her newly exposed breasts before gently pushing her back to lie down on the bed.

“This okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Renée replies, her words coming out exhilarated and breathless. She settles comfortably against the bed and looks up at Isabel with both tenderness and hunger in her eyes.

“Good.”

Isabel runs her fingers across Renée’s skin, traveling up from her hips and across her stomach and ribcage. Her touch brushes against the scar that marks where a bullet pierced her skin half a year ago, and she feels the familiar surge of guilt at the reminder of how she had nearly killed her. But for all of the scars and imperfections on Renée’s body that show how much she has endured, Isabel finds her breathtaking. They both have survived so much, and now they have finally arrived at this moment in which they can be vulnerable and open with each other without fear.

She brings her hands upward to Renée’s breasts, circling her thumb around one of her nipples and hearing her pleased intake of breath in response. She touches her lips to the top of her other breast as she takes the time to tease her, slowly driving her to greater arousal until she feels the desperate grind of Renée’s body against hers. Isabel has missed this so much, the sound of her partner’s moans and the sensation of fingers and mouth against skin. For so long she has feared that she would never reach this point of intimacy again, because she is too inhuman and too broken by her circumstances, but now she fully embraces the love and trust that have blossomed into this expression of their desires.

“Isabel,” Renée gasps, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. “Please--I need--”

Isabel takes her mouth away from her nipple. “Need what?” she prompts her.

Renée’s eyes flutter open. She reaches down to undo the button and zipper on her pants and slides them down over her hips. The motion is enough for Isabel to follow suit, stripping off her remaining clothes until nothing is hidden between them. Their eyes linger upon each other as they take in the sight of each other’s bodies, and then Renée takes hold of Isabel’s hand to guide it between her legs in a silent request.

Isabel does not hesitate to take control at Renée’s invitation. When she brings the pad of a finger against her clit, Renée lets out a breathy noise halfway between a moan and a gasp. Isabel takes her time with her movements, longing to hear her beg for more, but all she gets are the intermittent sounds of her pleasure as she feels slick and sensitive skin beneath her fingertips. She appreciates each sound regardless, marveling at how readily her former commander has surrendered herself to her.

She eventually replaces her fingers with her mouth, and Renée’s sharp intake of breath soon turns into a stifled almost-squeak. Isabel tastes her with long, slow strokes of her tongue, spreading her open and breathing her in. The moans and quiet cries of satisfaction drive her forward until all of her senses have become Renée, touch and taste and scent overwhelming her until nothing else matters except for the woman whom she loves.

The built-up tension of arousal breaks with quickened breaths when Renée reaches her climax, and her final gasp of Isabel’s name falls away into an empty syllable. Isabel wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and takes in the sight of Renée fully sated in the aftermath of her orgasm, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling with each breath she takes. Isabel lies down beside her, stretching her body long across the bed and snuggling close to her.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Incredible.” Renée turns on her side to face her. Her fingers brush against the firm muscles of Isabel’s arms. “Just need another second to catch my breath.”

“That’s funny, I seem to recall a time when you claimed to have good stamina,” Isabel teases.

The motion of Renée’s hand halts. “Oh, shut up,” she says. “You know I wasn’t talking about this.”

They lie together for a few more moments with their breaths gradually synchronizing in the lack of words exchanged between them. Renée then leans in to kiss Isabel’s shoulder, her fingers continuing to trace their paths against her skin.

“Do you mind if I return the favor?” she asks.

“Yeah, go for it,” Isabel replies. After having gone so long without feeling the intimate touch of a hand that is not her own, she yearns for the release that Renée can give her. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” says Renée. Her lips move against Isabel’s skin with the word before she shifts her position on the bed. She hesitates before adding, “I, um, I should probably warn you that it’s been quite a long time since I’ve been with a woman. So if I’m a little rusty--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isabel assures her. “Before tonight it’d been a long time since I’d been with anyone, period. It’s not like I was getting laid while I was in space.”

“I _would_ be impressed if you somehow managed to figure out zero-gravity sex.”

Renée’s hands skim up Isabel’s torso, passing over the place where metal shrapnel had lodged into her skin a couple of years previously. Her body had regenerated itself after a bullet ripped through her skull, but only the evidence of that fatal wound had vanished during her resurrection, leaving all of her previous scars untouched. This particular mark reminds her of that moment amid the chaos of Wolf 359’s abrupt change in color when she had pushed Renée out of the path of some flying debris to take the brunt of the impact herself--something that she had initially written off as her duty to protect her crew but now recognizes as the first seeds of a deeper bond between the two of them.

She exhales a breath when Renée’s hands reach her breasts, and Renée takes the time to feel their forms beneath her hands before bringing her mouth down. Isabel tilts her head back against the pillows, savoring the warmth of a mouth closed around one of her nipples while gentle fingers tease at the other. There’s a certain amount of both care and efficiency that Renée exhibits in her actions as she moves with no hesitation despite her warning of being out of practice, and it makes Isabel further anticipate how incredible it will feel to have Renée fuck her.

“Fuck, that’s good,” she says in encouragement. She rocks against the knee slotted between her legs, desperate for a greater point of friction. “Come on, give me more.”

Renée lifts her head, pressing a brief kiss to Isabel’s lips before turning her focus elsewhere. “Fingers okay?” she asks.

Isabel nods. “Yeah. I’m not picky.”

Renée’s touch travels downward to brush against Isabel’s clit with slow strokes. The arousal within her grows with each small motion of Renée’s fingers, and soon she cannot hold back the sound of her moan. A smirk of satisfaction turns up the corners of Renée’s lips before she returns her mouth to one of Isabel’s breasts, her lips and tongue caressing sensitive skin in time with the movement of her hand. By the time she slides one and then two fingers inside her, Isabel is hungry with need as she grinds against her hand. Her pleasure soon reaches its crescendo when Renée’s thumb returns to her clit, and she comes with a breathy gasp. Her heart races with an adrenaline that is much different from the terror and fear that she is more accustomed to. Instead she feels a swell of joy and satisfaction and _love_ that reminds her that she is here and alive.

“I love you,” Isabel says as they lie entwined together after having cleaned themselves up a little. The words are murmured into the small amount of space that exists between them with Renée cuddled up against her chest.

“I love you too,” replies Renée.

She tilts her chin up to kiss her before returning to her comfortable position in their embrace. A contented breath passes between them, which soon turns into the quiet sound of Isabel’s laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Renée asks.

“Nothing,” says Isabel. “It’s just… You _do_ realize that you’re probably the first person to have sex with an alien lifeform, right?”

Renée scowls. “It barely counts. You’re functionally indistinguishable from an ordinary human. It’s not like you’re a--a xenomorph or something.”

“You’ve made a whole new kind of first contact,” Isabel continues, pushing forward in between the breaths of her laughter. “Boldly going where no woman has gone before.”

Renée swats her arm gently but says nothing further. Her fingers trace absent patterns against Isabel’s skin, moving up her arm and across her chest. Isabel closes her eyes in contentment, feeling more at peace than she has in a long time. She almost feels _normal_ , like she is more than an alien facsimile who has spent the past several months struggling to figure out what it means to live on Earth. Whatever that meaning is, she knows that she can find it with Renée’s help as they work together to discover their future.

“I should probably talk to Dominik about this sometime soon, huh?” Renée says, more to herself than to Isabel as her thumb brushes against the ridge of her collarbone.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” replies Isabel. It’s not an issue that should go unaddressed, of course, but she does not want to think about _that_ particular elephant in the room while she and Renée are lying naked in bed together. “You can figure out how to tell him that you fucked an alien later.”

Renée groans. “Ugh, are you actively trying to make this as weird as possible? You’re not an alien to me. You’re _you_.”

“Yeah,” says Isabel. She presses a kiss to Renée’s forehead. “I know.”

They lie together for a few more lingering moments of silence. “You’ll be heading to bed soon, right?” she continues. “It’s getting late.”

“Mm. I probably should.” Renée shifts her position to meet her eyes. “I, um, I was thinking maybe I could spend the night in here with you, though? It’d be nice to not have to sleep alone.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Isabel leaves aside the detail that Renée will be doing most of the sleeping between the two of them, unless tonight has both of them lying awake in the throes of insomnia. “Being alone at night _does_ kind of suck.”

Renée disengages from Isabel’s arms and gets up from the bed. She scoops up her discarded items of clothing and redresses minimally, only wearing enough to properly cover herself. “I’m just going to grab a few things from my room and put some pajamas on,” she says after tugging her shirt over her head. She leans in to give Isabel a brief kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

She cracks open the door, peering out to ensure that no one is in the hallway before departing from the room. Once she has closed the door behind her, Isabel rises from the bed and gets dressed as well, throwing on a comfortable tank top and pajama shorts. By the time she is redressed and ready to settle in for the night, Renée has returned with her phone, a book, and a pillow. She sets her phone on the bedside table and makes herself comfortable next to Isabel, snuggling under the blanket and propping her head up with the extra pillow.

“You okay with me keeping the light on for now?” Isabel asks.

Renée makes a noise of assent. “I’ll be awake reading for a little while anyway.”

After Renée has opened her book to the place where she has left off, Isabel retrieves her laptop to check if there is anything that she needs to catch up on. Neither her email inbox nor her social media feeds are bustling with activity, but she makes sure to like Doug’s recently posted selfie of him and Jacobi taken on the couch downstairs. She’s in the middle of scrolling through the day’s news stories (still nothing about anything amiss at Goddard Futuristics, much to her relief) when she feels the mattress shift beneath her with Renée’s movement. With her book now set aside, she leans in to kiss Isabel goodnight.

“Sleep well,” Isabel says.

“You too.”

They share one more kiss before Renée pulls away and reclines comfortably next to her. After having slept alone for so many years, sharing a bed with someone else feels so foreign, but Isabel appreciates the warmth and comfort of having a slumbering body next to her. She listens to Renée’s breathing until it steadies into the slow inhale and exhale of sleeping breaths, and even as sleep eludes her, in this moment she has found a fleeting sense of peace.


	10. Chapter 10

As the nighttime hours tick by with Renée lying beside her, Isabel tries to draw herself toward slumber, but her thoughts refuse to slow down. The past thirty-six hours replay themselves in her memory: the Goddard infiltration, the drive home from Canaveral, and everything that has happened since her return. She cannot escape the doubt that has remained in the back of her mind all day, which questions whether everything she did was enough. She _should_ feel fulfilled by the act of vengeance and closure against Goddard, but instead she feels no different from how she did before. Her hands clench in frustration against her blanket as her heart beats a fast rhythm in her chest, a restless anxiety that she tries to calm with deep breaths.

After a couple of hours of unsuccessful attempts at sleep, Isabel turns to the distraction of music, lying in the dark with a gentle playlist of instrumental songs playing in her ears. The sudden sound of a gasp of breath beside her eventually startles her into pausing the music’s playback and removing her headphones. Beside her, Renée has jerked awake, her eyes snapped open and her breaths shallow in an interruption of her peaceful slumber.

“Hey,” Isabel says, keeping her voice quiet. “You okay?”

Renée nods. She rubs a hand across her eyes, clearing her vision to check the time displayed on the glowing numbers of the clock. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was already awake. Haven’t been able to fall asleep yet.” Isabel reaches out to gently stroke the exposed skin of one of Renée’s arms. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You’re shaking.”

“It’s nothing,” Renée insists. “I don’t even think it was a nightmare. It was just… I don’t really know. Kind of like a sense that everything was about to go wrong,”

Isabel makes a noise of sympathy. “Yeah, I get those sometimes. I can never decide whether they’re an improvement over the regular nightmares.”

Renée shifts closer to her, nestling against her as Isabel wraps an arm around her. She wonders if Renée will drift back to sleep here, resting in the comfort and reassurance of her embrace, but then she hears her voice through in darkness of the room.

“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to sleep,” Renée says. “I can go back to my room if you think having some space might make it easier.”

“No. I like having you here.” Isabel’s thumb brushes against her cheek, mapping its surface under her touch as if hoping to memorize its shape. The thoughts that have swarmed her mind over the past few hours rise up, breaking through the walls that she places around herself. “Maybe I was stupid to think that I could sleep well tonight,” she murmurs. “That acting against Goddard would stop the nightmares. But it’s just going to be the same goddamn thing over and over again, isn’t it?”

“That’s why you went to Canaveral?” Renée asks. “Because you thought it would end the nightmares?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Isabel’s exhale trembles on its way out. “It was the best way I could think of to deal with everything that happened. Getting revenge, getting even. And don’t get me wrong, it feels _really_ good to know that I caused them a lot of trouble, at least in the short term. But… Well, I guess I just thought I’d feel more of a sense of closure after everything was said and done.”

She feels Renée’s eyes upon her and hears the pause of deliberation before she speaks. “Sometimes moving forward isn’t that easy,” she says “Whatever happened to us, whatever choices we’ve made, we have to live with it. One secret mission isn’t going to fix that.”

“I know.” Isabel turns her face aside, pressing it into the pillow to avoid having to look directly at Renée. “I just hate how even after standing up to Cutter and telling him that he can’t take away who I am, and then watching you kill him, and now destroying what’s left of his legacy that wasn't taken away for evidence, I still don’t really feel like I’m free from him and the rest of Goddard. I can’t even have an amazing night with you without--”

She breaks off there. Her emotions continue to simmer below the surface, their pressure rising until she can no longer contain them. She has done so well at holding everything in, never revealing her deepest fears and regrets to Renée except during their most candid heart-to-hearts, but tonight may be the night when everything that she has suppressed finally comes out.

“Without what?” Renée asks. She brushes her fingers again Isabel’s hand in a soothing motion.

Isabel lifts her cheek from the soft surface of the pillow and exhales another deep breath to brace herself for the vulnerability of verbally tearing herself open. “A lot of my nightmares are the same thing over and over,” she says. “Ever since we came back, they’ve usually been about being under Cutter’s control, when he used the psi-waves to make me shoot you. And--and things don’t always stop there. They get even worse.”

She hates how her voice wavers with her words. Even though she has not expanded upon the details of her most recent series of nightmares, she is sure that Renée can fill in the blanks in what she leaves unspoken. The only response that she gives for now is a quiet “Oh,” as she touches a hand to the place on her abdomen where Isabel had shot her.

“And it kills me that I have to keep reliving that,” Isabel continues on. “That I have to remember how fucked up it was to pull that trigger while every part of me was screaming that I didn’t want to do it. I think about what might have happened if I hadn’t been able to break out of his control, and…” Her voice shakes again, and her chest tightens. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I still did, and I’m so, _so_ fucking terrified that it’s somehow going to happen again.”

Renée entwines their hands together, unafraid of the inhuman power that Isabel’s hands have previously held. “I wish I knew what to say,” she says. “That it would be enough for me to say that I know it wasn’t really you who did it. But I know that’s not much comfort when you remember your finger on the trigger.”

“Yeah.” Isabel recalls what Renée has said to her about how they understand each other more deeply than most other people would. Anyone else would have offered the useless sentiment that Renée has tried to avoid, but Renée _knows_ the torment of being helpless and yet fully aware inside her own body. “Sometimes I wonder why you’ve never been scared of me ever since you found out what I am. Anyone in their right mind would have run in the opposite direction after seeing someone come back to from the dead and hearing aliens speak through them. But you never ran, even though you had every reason to.”

“I’m not sure why, myself,” Renée admits. “Maybe because I figured that if you really were something to be afraid of, you would have gone through with blowing up the Hephaestus and killing all of us at the first opportunity you had. And even after seeing you come back to life and the whole contact event thing, I just had this instinct that I could still trust you. Considering how much I didn’t trust most of my instincts after everything that happened during the mutiny, that has to mean something.”

“Thank God for that, I guess.” Isabel’s thumb caresses the inside of Renée’s wrist. “I don’t know, sometimes I feel pretty okay about what I am, and I don’t doubt myself so much. But then I’m like, life isn’t supposed to be like this, is it? Most people don’t have to worry about their original self being dead, or about how they’re not human no matter how much they look like it. And that makes all of the doubt comes rushing back.”

“I know how that feels,” says Renée. “Not the ‘not being human’ part, of course, but… well, everything else. Doubting yourself, and realizing how much being in space has changed you.”

“I guess that’s why we’re both awake at this god-awful hour of the night. Or morning. Whichever.”

Renée squeezes her hand in a gentle gesture. “It’s why I’m glad I have you.”

Isabel shifts her position on the bed to spooning up against Renée with the warmth of her body behind her. Renée’s nose and lips press into her hair with the brief touch of a kiss to the top of her head. She feels so _safe_ here, in a place where her ugliest thoughts cannot reach her. The anxiety in her heart has not faded completely, but for now she can push it away and lie in the security of the arms of the woman she loves.

“Are you good to go back to sleep?” she asks Renée. “Sorry about how I kind of took things over with how messed up I am.”

“Yeah. I’m okay now.” Renée’s words are quiet in Isabel’s ear. “And don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was a relief to get all of that off your chest.”

Isabel murmurs in assent. “Sleep well, okay?”

“I’ll try. You make sure to get some rest too.”

Isabel turns her head to meet her lips in a kiss before returning to her comfortable position in Renée’s arms. She does not dream when she finally falls into slumber, at least not in any form that she remembers, and so the scant amount of sleep that she gets feels as restful as it can without the presence of nightmares.

The chime of the alarm that Renée has set on her phone wakes her a few hours later. She groans and rolls over to bury her face in her pillow, pulling it up around her ears to block out the sound. The mattress shifts with Renée’s movement as she reaches for her phone to turn off the alarm. Isabel lifts her head and sees the immediately vacated space next to her, because of _course_ Renée does not linger in bed when she has places to be.

“Oh my God,” she says, peering over the side of the bed to see that Renée is on the floor doing push-ups, silently counting each one in her head. “Of _course_ you’re crazy enough to roll out of bed and jump right into some strength conditioning.”

“It’s not being crazy, it’s being _disciplined_ ,” Renée replies, not missing a beat with the pace of her push-ups. “Besides, you’re not one to talk. You don’t think I knew about all the times you used the exercise equipment on the Hephaestus at odd hours of the night?”

“That was different. I mostly did that to keep myself sane. This is--” Isabel gestures vaguely. “Well, it’s very _you_.”

Renée turns over onto her back to switch to sit-ups. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Isabel watches her from the bed, taking in every detail of the scene in front of her: the perfect form and pace of her sit-ups, the faint sound of her breaths, the way her hair remains slightly tousled after sleeping on it. “You sure you have to go to work today?” she asks after Renée has finished her early morning exercise. “You can’t just stay in bed with me all day?”

“I’m afraid not.” Renée rises to her feet and gathers up her belongings. “But you’re welcome to join me downstairs for breakfast after I shower.”

“Nah, I think I’m going to try to get a couple more hours of sleep.” The yawn in the middle of Isabel’s words illustrates her point as she reclines back on the bed. “Besides, Jacobi’s probably still asleep in the living room. I wouldn’t want to wake him up.”

“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot.” Renée reaches for the pillow that she has brought from her room. “If I had known that I wouldn’t be using my bed last night, I would have offered it to him. It’s probably a little more comfortable than a pull-out couch.”

“That would’ve just led to awkward questions about where _you_ were planning on sleeping,” says Isabel. “He already suspects that there’s something going on between us.”

Renée sighs in exasperation. “Of course he does. At this rate the whole house will know by next week.” She balances everything that she carries in her arms as she leans in to kiss her. “Okay, I’ll see you when I get home. Have a wonderful day.”

“Yeah, you too.” Isabel brushes her hand across Renée’s cheek before pulling it away, savoring the last moments of her presence before she takes her leave. “I love you,” she calls out to her after Renée has made her way toward the door.

A fond smile crosses Renée’s lips. “I love you too.”

She steps out into the hallway and shuts the door behind her. With the faint light of dawn casting a soft light on her bed, Isabel drifts back into slumber. When she eventually wakes again a little after eight o’clock, she feels a little more rested and ready to face the day. She has spread herself across the bed in Renée’s absence, taking advantage of the extra space despite how comforting the presence beside her had been. With a large yawn, she gets out of bed, stretching her arms above her head and rising onto the balls of her feet.

“How was your night?” Hera asks, her voice breaking through the quiet space of the room.

“Hera! Jesus, I didn’t know you were in here.” Isabel drops her arms to her sides, startled by the sudden indicator that Hera has returned her attention to the room.

“Sorry for startling you. I figured it was safe to come back once I saw that Renée was getting ready for work,” Hera replies. “Let me tell you, ignoring a room for more than a couple hours at a time gets _really_ difficult. I can’t tell you how many times I had to stop myself a couple of nanoseconds before automatically checking in.”

“But you didn’t, right?” asks Isabel as she retrieves some clean clothes from a drawer. “Check in, I mean.”

“No. I respect your privacy. And I know it must be nice for the two of you to have some time completely to yourselves without your AI friend as the awkward third wheel.”

“Yeah. And thanks for being, I dunno, accommodating. All of this is probably really annoying for you. It’s not like you can just go out and take a walk or something when someone wants some privacy. You’re pretty much stuck inside the house.”

“I don’t mind it so much,” Hera replies. “Doug thinks it would be really cool if I could transfer myself into a robot body, but I’m not so sure. Being tied to one body and not being able to see what’s going on elsewhere seems kind of limited. I don’t know how you people manage it.” The light sound of laughter comes through Hera’s speaker. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” says Isabel. “And I’m sure it won’t be long before we come up with an effective system for dealing with things like this. Just another part of the AI roommate life, right?”

“Right.”

That need comes sooner rather than later, because that evening Renée ends up in Isabel’s room again. The urgent passion of the previous night has given way to something slower and more prolonged as they take the time to explore each other’s bodies in their intimacy. Isabel tries to memorize everything about her as they drift in and out of sex: how she can make her laugh with light touches to certain ticklish spots, how strong her thighs feel as she buries her face between them, how warm and pliant her mouth is against her skin. It’s the small details that Isabel holds onto, and they fill her with the gratitude that she has found love and support after years of being alone.

Saturday morning dawns the same way it usually does, and after several weeks spent together in this house Isabel and Renée move like a well-oiled machine through their weekend routine despite the change in their relationship and Jacobi’s additional presence. A couple of hours after their shared breakfast, Isabel heads out for a run, leaving Renée at the kitchen table catching up on some emails and Doug and Jacobi playing video games. They have recently set up the old Xbox 360 that Jacobi has brought with him from his apartment, and Isabel suspects that the two of them have designated multiplayer action games as their entertainment for the weekend now that Doug has found a willing friend to play games with. She herself has been known to get a little too competitive and aggressive to be a suitable gaming partner for him (and Renée’s own competitive streak is diminished by her complete lack of skill), and despite Hera’s enthusiasm for watching Doug play games she does not yet have a way to actively participate with him.

“Be back in an hour or so,” Isabel says after filling a water bottle and lacing up her sneakers. She touches a hand to Renée’s shoulder on her way past her in a tender gesture that goes unnoticed by Doug and Jacobi.

The midday sun beats down on her when she steps outside, with music playing in her ears as she sets off on her route. Usually she seeks to lose herself in her runs, shutting out everything else on her mind, but today there is a quiet, unshakeable joy inside of her that does not fade with the intensity of exercise. She feels the sweat beading at her neck and the small of her back, but she pushes forward at a steady pace down the sidewalk until she loops back to the house several miles later, slowing her pace and drinking from her water bottle as she approaches the front door.

Inside the house, Doug and Jacobi have not moved from the couch, and their attention remains glued to the TV even after her entrance. Renée has now left her position at the kitchen table, although her laptop remains open with its screen dark with inactivity. A frown crosses Isabel’s lips at her absence.

“Where’s Renée?” she asks.

“She’s upstairs,” Hera replies. “She had a phone call that she wanted to take privately.”

“Oh.” Isabel chugs down the remainder of her water bottle and sets it aside. “I see the video games are still going well.”

Doug does not turn away from the TV screen. “Yeah, unlike certain people who will remain nameless, Daniel can play games without any threats of bodily harm,” he says, as Jacobi yells “Hey, fuck you too, buddy!” at what is presumably an enemy AI opponent.

Isabel raises her eyebrows at the incongruity between Doug’s words and Jacobi’s actions. “You tried to play Mario Party against me and Renée. You should have known that was only going to end in disaster.”

Jacobi laughs. “Now _that_ I would have wanted to see.”

“We could always try it again,” Doug ventures, but he is immediately met with a swift “No” from both Isabel and Hera. “Hey, it was just a suggestion.”

“Well, as fun as it would be to watch you two digitally shoot things for hours,” Isabel says, “I’m currently very gross and need a shower. Hera, you’ll make sure these idiots get off the couch at some point?”

“I’ve already been trying,” Hera assures her.

Isabel ascends the stairs and heads for the bathroom, but the muffled sound of Renée’s voice stops her in her tracks. The door to Renée’s bedroom has not been closed all the way, and she can hear Renée’s half of the phone conversation through the small crack between the door and the frame. Isabel lingers in the hall to listen, despite Hera’s comment about Renée wanting to take the call privately.

“I know, Dominik,” she is saying, and that immediately answers the question of who she is talking to. “I _know_. And if you want an honest answer, I’m not sure whether I _want_ to leave here. I--” She breaks off, perhaps at Dominik’s interruption, and sighs. “Well, yes. Of course I care about them. Doug is… Well, he’s family now. So is Hera. And Isabel...” At the sound of her name, Isabel braces herself for the inevitability of Renée admitting the truth about what has developed between them. “She’s important to me.”

As much as her curiosity nags at her, Isabel knows that she should not be listening to the rest of this conversation. It’s easy to imagine the words on the other end of the call: “What do you mean, ‘important’?” or maybe “More important than me?” She has to applaud Renée’s honesty, but now the detail of their feelings for each other being the potential final strike to a crumbling marriage is thrown into starker light.

She enters the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the shower to block out the distant sound of Renée’s voice. She strips off her running clothes and stands under the showerhead for longer than she usually does after a run. The water streams across her skin and flows down the drain as she gauges how long she will have to stay in here to resist the temptation to further eavesdrop on the conversation that, despite her involvement in the situation, should be none of her business. She cannot stay in here forever, though, and so with her fingers wrinkled and pruned from the amount of time she has spent in the shower stall, Isabel shuts off the water and dries herself off.

“Is Renée off the phone yet?” she asks Hera.

“I’ve been giving her some privacy,” Hera replies. “But I just glanced in and yeah, it looks like it.”

“Thanks.”

Isabel wraps her towel around herself and scoops up her discarded sweaty clothing before leaving the bathroom. She walks past Renée’s room, noting the silence that comes from within it, and then enters her own bedroom. She tosses her dirty clothes in her laundry basket--a perfect shot, because she didn’t play years of basketball in her youth for nothing--and finds some clean clothes to put on. When she has almost finished redressing, a knock sounds against the door.

“Just a sec,” Isabel says.

She pulls her shirt over her head and then opens the door to reveal Renée standing in the hallway. She looks relatively okay, all things considered. A slight frown creases her forehead and contracts the space between her eyebrows, but she shows no other hint of negative emotions.

“Can I talk to you?” Renée asks.

“Sure.” Isabel steps aside to let her enter the room. Renée makes a path for her bed, sitting down on its surface with the familiarity of someone who had been in it less than six hours earlier. “Everything okay?”

Renée hesitates before speaking. “I was on the phone with Dominik just now,” she says. “He wanted to check in, see how things were with me. And I… I figured it would be a good time to tell him about us.”

“Oh,” is all Isabel says at first, deciding against the confession of _Yeah, I overheard part of your conversation._ She sits down next to Renée and touches a hand to her shoulder. “How’d that go?”

“He was… He was surprised, I guess,” Renée replies. “Not because you’re a woman, he knows that I’m bisexual, but because I don’t think he expected me to find someone else during these past few months. And it’s true, I _was_ supposed to be focusing on myself so that I could get a clearer picture of what future there is for him and me, but… Well, we both know that things didn’t exactly turn out that way.” She sighs. “Anyway, it wasn’t a conversation that should happen over the phone, so we agreed to meet next weekend to talk things out and decide where to go from here.”

“And do know where that is?” Isabel asks. “Where you think things are going with him, I mean.”

“I--” The beginning of Renée’s statement breaks off into a trembling breath. “It’s not like I didn’t try to make things work with him, you know? When I first came back to Earth and I thought that we could pick up where we left off. But now I know that if he and I stay together, we’re only going to be miserable because we can’t really fix what’s changed between us. I think I’ve known that for a long time. It was just a matter of accepting it.”

Her response is the exact type of mature and sensible approach that Isabel would expect her to take to a complicated situation. There is a detail that is conspicuously absent from her words, however, and so Isabel asks, “And your decision has nothing to do with the way you feel about me?”

“It’s been a factor,” Renée admits. “But I think I probably would have come to the same decision even without you being here. It just might have been a harder choice for me to make. Because I _am_ happy with you, in a way that I don’t think I’ve been with Dominik since I came back to Earth. So I think it’s going to be the right choice in the end. Or, well, at least I _hope_ it is,” she adds, uncertainty entering her voice again. “Anyway, we’ll see how it goes when he and I meet up to talk things over. I wish it didn’t have to be so far away from now, but he’s traveling for work this coming week and won’t be available until next weekend, so…” She trails off into a rueful laugh. “He’s always been extremely busy like that.”

“And we’ll be good until then?” Isabel asks. “You’re not going to, I dunno, put things on hold for us until you and him have ended things?”

“No, I think the damage there is already done. And maybe I made a mistake in not waiting until he and I were officially split up before starting something with you, but it’s not like it’s something I can go back and fix, you know? I’m going to have to deal with the consequences no matter what.”

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Isabel moves her hand to entwine their fingers together. “Not waiting?”

“I know I probably should, but no, I don’t think I do.” Renée tightens her hold on her hand. “Being with you… it just feels _right_. And it took us long enough to figure that out as it is.”

She leans against Isabel as they enjoy the comfort of each other’s company in the silence that falls between them. Isabel kisses the top of her head, her nose pressed into her hair as she breathes her in.

“So what now?” she asks. “You want to go downstairs and see if we can kick Doug and Jacobi off the couch for a little while? Or maybe grab some lunch somewhere if you’re not too busy? We haven’t gotten around to that second date yet, after all.”

“Mm. A lunch date sounds good, actually. Just give me half an hour or so and then we can head out.”

Renée rises to her feet and lets go of their entwined hands. She walks toward the door, turning around to face the bed before taking her leave.

“Isabel?” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For, you know, being here for me. I know everything would probably be a lot less complicated if you weren’t here, or at least if we hadn’t realized our feelings for each other. But I’m glad I don’t have to go through all of this alone.”

“None of us should have to be alone,” Isabel replies. She has spent long enough believing otherwise, shutting herself away from others’ concerns and comfort because there was nobody to trust. Now, however, she has allowed the walls around herself to crack a little as she lets others in. “I’ll always be here, no matter what messes we get ourselves into.”

Renée smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next week dawns uneventfully despite the looming reminder of Renée’s upcoming meeting with her husband. Isabel feels the restlessness of boredom more than ever now that she no longer has a secret mission to plan, but fortunately living in a house with two other currently unemployed adults (and one technically unemployed AI) provides her with valuable company while Renée is at work. She never thought that after everything she has endured she would end up relying on the company of others to help her stay sane, but it wouldn’t be the first time she has surprised herself since returning to Earth.

“Doug and I are going to the park down the street to shoot some hoops,” she says to Jacobi one afternoon when she finds him lounging with his computer in the living room. “You’re welcome to tag along if you want. It won’t exactly make for even teams, but…”

Jacobi sizes up her height and muscular frame. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to pass on that,” he replies. “It sounds like a good way to get my ass kicked.”

“She kicks everyone’s ass, don’t worry,” Doug assures him. “It’s all in good fun, anyway.”

“Yeah, still gonna pass.” Jacobi stretches his legs out across the length of the couch. “You two enjoy yourselves, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” says Isabel. “Doug? You’ve got the ball?”

Doug makes a poor show of trying to spin the basketball in question on his index finger. Isabel winces, bracing herself for the ball to fall and crash into something in the living room. He catches it before it does so, tucking it under his arm with no further antics.

“It looks a lot easier when people on TV do it,” he grumbles at her eyeroll of exasperation.

They head out into the sunshine, making their way down the sidewalk until they reach the small public park a few blocks away. At this hour of the day the space is fairly empty apart from a couple of young children on the playground. They seem oblivious to Isabel and Doug’s presence, and it’s probably for the best that they don’t realize that they are in the company of a real, live alien who was conjured into existence several light years away from Earth.

“Want to start off with a game of horse?” Isabel asks. “I’ll even let you take the first turn to make things more fair for you.”

“Hey, I’m not _totally_ bad at this,” Doug replies. “I know you go easy on me, anyway.”

He stands several feet back from the hoop and lines up a shot. It lands in the hoop, and he raises his arms in triumph. Isabel retrieves the ball and moves to Doug’s position. As she expects from him and his not entirely consistent basketball skills, it’s an easy shot for her to make. The ball swishes through the net with perfect execution in a superior recreation of his initial challenge to her.

“So you think I go easy on you, huh?” Isabel takes a few steps back and to the side, presenting a slightly more difficult shot than the straightforward one that he has started with. “Okay, let’s see if you can make this one.”

The ball goes in. When it’s Doug’s turn to shoot, he misses the hoop completely. “I, uh, I meant to do that,” he says after he has picked up the ball where it has rolled to a stop. “Guess that’s an ‘H’ for me, huh?”

“You’ve got time to make it up.”

They continue to take turns back and forth, and Doug racks up the letters “H-O-R-S” with each missed basket. Isabel supposes she should humor him by deliberately missing a shot or two, but her competitive nature refuses to give him even a small taste of victory.

“Hey, so I haven’t told you yet,” Doug says as Isabel contemplates where to take her next shot from. “Renée’s been helping me apply for jobs, and yesterday I got a call to come in for an interview at the end of the week. It’s just a part-time announcer job at a radio station a couple of nights a week, but it’s something.”

“Congrats,” Isabel replies. “You’re going to stick with the whole radio thing, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been feeling out all kinds of things, but it would be cool if I got a job in radio. It seems like something I was actually kinda good at, you know, before. So I figured I’d try to keep that going.” He hesitates before adding, “Anyway, to help me prepare, Hera pulled up an old tape from the Hephaestus that’s still on her servers. I guess at some point she and I made our own radio show about what was happening with those aliens we were trying to communicate with? Or, you know, something like that.”

“Oh, God.” The memories of Doug’s ill-advised attempts at investigative journalism remain fresh in Isabel’s mind, even if his own recollection of the incident is long gone. “She told me she deleted those files.”

“Yeah, no, she definitely still has them.” Doug laughs, and then his expression sobers into something a little more serious. Isabel still isn’t used to this side of him, the more conscientious version of Doug who has surfaced upon awakening with his mind as a blank slate. “And as I kept listening, things got kind of surprisingly real towards the end. I know I probably already apologized like a million times for the stuff that you all called me out on, but I feel like I should do it again. So, you know, sorry for all the times that I’ve been a dick without realizing it.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Isabel says. “I mean, nobody’s perfect. Everyone’s going to be a dick and say hurtful things every now and then. The point is to take those moments and do better. Apologies are nice and all, but it’s the actual effort to improve that’s important. And, you know, not sulking about how you’ve been called out,” she adds, remembering how he had initially reacted to the revelation that his supposedly joking statements cause more harm than he realizes.

“Okay. Because I _am_ trying. You know, to do better and not make the same mistakes I did before. I figure that’s what he’d want me to do.” He speaks of his former self like a separate entity, an indicator of the blurry connection between memory and personal identity. “Besides, nobody wants to be _that_ asshole who doesn’t respect their friends, right?”

“That’s for sure.” Isabel tosses the ball into the hoop, making yet another perfect shot. “Okay, there’s another easy one for you. Let’s see how you do.”

Doug grabs the ball and makes his attempt. “Ha! See, I’m not completely hopeless,” he says when the ball goes in. “But anyway, other than the super serious stuff at the end of the recording, I’ve also been thinking about some of the other things from the radio show. I mean, a lot of the stuff about the aliens and how to communicate with them went way, _way_ over my head. But it got me thinking about how you guys said that I dive-bombed into a star and ended up making actual, real-deal contact with the aliens. And how I learned all kinds of existential secrets from them that I was supposed to bring back to all of you. But all of that’s gone now, right? Anything that I didn’t get a chance to tell you guys is just--” He snaps his fingers. “Poof. Lost. So that pretty much wrecks their chances of making further contact and learning more about us, right?”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure,” says Isabel. “I assume they can still see and hear things happening on Earth through me. And they seem to be pretty resourceful. I don’t think their plan to observe humanity is going to be shot just because the guy who they gave all their knowledge to got his mind wiped. They’ll probably just wait until someone new comes into the neighborhood and try again.”

“Let’s hope those people have a better time in space than you guys did.” Doug backs further away from the hoop to take his next turn. “Okay. let’s go for broke on this one,” he says. “I gotta get you to miss at least one shot by the end of this game, right?”

Isabel sizes up the distance and angle of the shot. “Yeah, good luck making that one. You’re not exactly a pro at this.”

“Have a little faith, Isabel.”

He tosses the ball toward the hoop. It misses spectacularly, and Isabel has to stifle her snort of laughter at his overconfidence. “Ooh, too bad. You shouldn’t have risked it. Now you’re at my mercy.”

“One day I’ll finally make a really cool shot. You’ll see.”

“You’re getting better,” she assures him as she grabs the ball from where it has landed. “But maybe you’d better stick to radio for now.”

Doug adopts an old-fashioned radio announcer voice. “This is Doug Eiffel, coming at you live from the basketball court, where he is getting his ass kicked. More on this story as it develops, but for now, here’s the weather.” At Isabel’s chuckle, he returns to his normal voice. “Anyway, what about you? Since we’ve been talking about jobs and all that. Have you thought about what you want to do when you decide to rejoin the workforce?”

“I’m not sure,” Isabel says. “I was looking for a job away from the Air Force when I ended up on the Hephaestus, so it’s not like I’m eager to join back up with the military. I guess I could try to find a civilian piloting job or flight instructor position. Use my skill sets and all that. But I think what I really want to do is make sure that no one else has to go through what we did ever again, however I can do that.”

Doug murmurs in agreement. “Yeah, I think that would suit you. You know, fighting injustice like some kind of real-life superhero. Wonder Woman, maybe?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely no Wonder Woman.” Isabel laughs. “But I’ll figure out something out soon. It’s been nice having all of this free time, but I’m definitely starting to feel a little stir-crazy.”

“You’re going to stick around here, though, right?” Doug asks. “I’ve kinda liked having you around.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, Renée’s here, so…” She breaks off, realizing her mistake in singling out Renée’s presence as an important factor as to why she wants to remain in the D.C. area. “Not that she’s the only reason, of course,” she backtracks. “Or a reason at all. I just--”

“It’s okay,” says Doug. “I, uh, I kind of already know that the two of you are…” He gestures vaguely. “You know. A thing. I didn’t want to bring it up, ‘cause Hera said you wanted to keep it quiet, but…”

Isabel groans. “So much for subtlety. Was it her or Jacobi who spilled the beans?”

“Neither of them, actually. You know when you and Renée had that argument after you came back from Canaveral and you kicked everyone else out of the room so the two of you could have it out? You, uh, you weren’t exactly quiet. We could still hear some stuff from upstairs.”

“Jesus,” Isabel murmurs. She lines up her shot and tosses the ball into the hoop with perfect aim. “I guess there’s no use keeping it a secret anymore.”

Doug grabs the ball as it bounces toward him and moves to her position. “You didn’t have to keep it from me, you know,” he says. “Did you think I wasn’t going to approve or something? ‘Cause I’m like, the last person who’d judge two friends finding happiness together, especially after everything that the two of you have been through.”

“We didn’t want to make a big deal of it until we had a better sense of where it was going,” Isabel replies. “Especially because Renée’s still married, so it wouldn’t feel right to make anything official yet.”

“Ooh, yeah. That’s rough.” Doug dribbles the ball in place a couple of times and then stops in mid-motion. “So wait, is she, like, going to leave her husband for you?”

“Ugh, you’re making me sound like a homewrecker.” Which she technically is, she supposes, except that the problems in Renée’s marriage pre-date the romantic involvement between the two of them. “It’s not like I’m the evil lesbian swooping in to destroy a marriage. There are other factors.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’m sure everything is super complicated for them. But she’s been holding herself together pretty well, hasn’t she?”

Isabel murmurs in assent. “That’s what she does best.”

Doug takes his shot. The ball hits the rim of the hoop, teetering on the edge before falling away toward the ground. He slumps in defeat at his failure, “Damn, so close. That’s an ‘E’ for me. So much for victory.”

Isabel claps him on the shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “Hey, you’re getting better. I might even give you some pointers before we go back home.”

“I’ll be a pro before you know it.” Doug retrieves the ball from where it has landed and tucks it under his arm. “Serious talk, though. I’m glad that I have you and everyone else have been such good friends to me. I mean, you all were basically strangers to me after I lost my memories. You didn’t have to stick with me once we were back on Earth. but you did anyway. And I’m really grateful for that.”

“Well, nobody had to stick with me when they found out that I’m not the real Isabel Lovelace, but here we are,” Isabel replies. “Things don’t always turn out how you expect.”

“Yeah, I suppose they don’t.” Doug laughs appreciatively. “But also, before I got to know you guys again, it was almost like there was something deep inside me that _knew_ all of you, even if I didn’t remember you. Which I know doesn’t really make sense, but it’s probably why I didn’t think you all were totally nuts when you filled me in about everything that had happened. Because I knew that I could trust you.”

“Eh, I don’t think it’s that crazy of a thought,” says Isabel. “Sure, all of your old memories are gone, but maybe there are some things that go beyond memory. Like who you are and who you care about, even if you don’t remember the specifics.”

“Huh. Like ‘Once you meet someone, you never really forget them.’” When Isabel raises her eyebrows at his surprising display of wisdom, Doug adds, “It’s, uh, it’s a line from a movie that Hera and I watched a while ago. It fits my situation well, I think.” He then clears his throat and throws the basketball to Isabel. “Okay, enough of this mushy stuff. Let’s see some of those pointers you have for me.”

“Right. First of all, your technique is atrocious, so we have to start there before I teach you anything fancy.”

But despite these instances of camaraderie with her friends and her stolen moments of passion with Renée, the happiness that Isabel has found upon settling into her new version of normal life does not always last through the most difficult hours of her day. As comforting as it is to have Renée sleeping beside her to eliminate her sense of loneliness as she lies awake, the two of them do not always spend their nights together. A person who only gets a few hours of sleep every night does not always make for a good bedmate, after all, and the last thing that Isabel wants to do is keep Renée awake with her fitful slumber during the rough nights.

A few nights later, she finds herself in the familiar position of her body jerking her awake, her heart pounding and her thoughts racing. She curls in on herself and presses her face against her pillow, taking each of her breaths slowly and deliberately to help calm her mind and body. The images of her dream have already begun to fade away, and so it is easy for her to ground herself in reality. She will not let the nightmares win this time, not when she has done so much to fight against them.

“Are you okay?” Hera asks in her standard inquiry of concern on nights like these.

Isabel nods. “Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks for checking in, though.”

She throws the blankets off her and swings her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. Her original intention is to go downstairs to get something to drink, but instead she finds herself in front of the closed door to Renée’s bedroom. She quietly opens the door and slips inside, careful not to disturb her slumber. Unlike Isabel, who tends to spread out across the space of a bed when she is sleeping alone, Renée is curled up comfortably on one side of the bed, and so she can easily slide in beside her under the blanket.

Renée’s eyes fluttering open in half-asleep alertness as she murmurs something indistinct. Before Isabel can assure her that it’s okay, that it’s just her, Renée snuggles against her and falls silent. Isabel closes her eyes and listens to the soft sound of her sleeping breaths, losing herself in the gratitude of having a reassuring presence beside her. She does not drift into a deep sleep, but she manages a couple of hours of on-and-off dozing before she wakes to morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

“Hey,” Renée says upon noticing that she is awake. “I guess I didn’t imagine you coming in here last night.”

“No. I just wanted some company. Hope it wasn’t too much of a shock to wake up with me next to you.” Isabel uses a hand to shade her eyes from the sunlight and then turns her head to check the time. “Jesus, it’s seven in the morning,” she says. “Haven’t you ever heard of sleeping in on a Saturday?”

Renée gives a brief laugh. “Isabel, in all of the time that you’ve known me, do you _really_ think I’m physically capable of lounging around in bed on weekends?”

“Well, I don’t know. What about last Sunday when you were willing to hang around for a bit while I was knuckle-deep in you?” Isabel teases.

“You can be incredibly blunt about some things, you know that?” Renée replies. She pulls herself into a sitting position and reaches for her phone on the bedside table. A smile turns up the corners of her mouth despite the exasperation in her words.

“You know you love it, babe.”

Renée looks up from checking her phone and then sets it down. “All joking aside, though, I really do need to get up now. I have a lot of things that I want to get done before I meet with Dominik this afternoon, because who knows how long _that’s_ going to take.”

“Oh, right. That’s today, isn’t it?” Isabel watches as Renée rises from the bed. “If you need any moral support before you leave, just say the word.”

“I’m sure I’ll be okay. But thank you for offering.”

Isabel reclines comfortably on the bed, savoring the feeling of not having anything to do or anywhere to go. Beside her on the floor, Renée has begun her usual morning exercise regimen, which Isabel now knows to date back to her teenage years when she’d started getting in shape in anticipation of her future with the Air Force. Her dedication truly is relentless, and it only makes Isabel admire her more as she sees the movement of her muscles beneath the loose fabric of her shirt.

For the rest of the morning, Renée flits from activity to activity, keeping busy with some miscellaneous cleaning, a mid-morning run, and a quick trip to the grocery store. Isabel knows restless and anxious behavior when she sees it, but she does not press her to talk about what is on her mind. She already suspects the answer, anyway, because she cannot imagine that it is easy for Renée to face seeing her husband after a couple of months apart when so much has changed. Renée may have already decided how she intends to approach the conversation with him, but the unknown variable of his response is enough to make anyone worried.

She ends up being gone for the entire afternoon, and so Isabel engages in her own set of distractions as the hours pass by, taking care of a few projects and chores around the house. When the front door opens to signify Renée’s return home a little before six o’clock, Isabel has traded her industriousness for lounging in the living room with Doug, Jacobi, and Hera, catching the tail end of the movie they have been watching. The look on Renée’s face when she enters the house does not immediately betray any of her emotions, and so Isabel can only guess at what she is feeling.

“Walk with me?” Renée asks with a brief touch to her shoulder.

Isabel rises from her position on the couch, ignoring the questioning look that Doug throws her from across the room. She slides her feet into a pair of shoes at the door and follows Renée outside. Only silence accompanies their footfalls against the sidewalk as they walk the short distance to the nearby park, and so Isabel takes the initiative of starting the conversation that inevitably awaits them.

“How did things go with Dominik?” she asks after they have settled themselves onto one of the benches.

“It… Well, it wasn’t terrible.” Renée’s mouth draws itself into a thin line, an expression that usually indicates that she is downplaying or hiding something.

“That sounds like a mild way of putting things,” Isabel says. “Come on, you can’t just leave it at that.”

Renée exhales a sigh of reluctance. “It was nice to be able to talk to him face-to-face, but it was also kind of strange, like I was finally facing a reality that I’d been hiding from while I’ve been here. Even though I kept telling myself that it shouldn’t feel strange, because he’s my husband.” Her frown deepens. “Or soon to be ex-husband, I suppose.”

The last part of the statement hits Isabel with a sense of inescapable finality. “Shit, that sucks,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“We had a very long, very difficult conversation about… well, pretty much everything,” Renée continues on. “But we both agreed it’s for the best. There’s just too much that’s changed between us. With him feeling like he doesn’t know me anymore after I came back from space and struggling to fit me back into his life after mourning me for years, and then me not knowing how to talk to him about some of the things that happened and trying to live a life that I sometimes don’t know how to live anymore, I think there’s just something fundamentally broken between him and I that can’t be fixed. And now that I’ve started this thing with you, I think that was the final straw. So we’re going to file for divorce.”

Isabel touches a reassuring hand on Renée’s knee, brushing against the fabric of her pants. “How are you holding up?” she asks.

“Okay, I guess.” Renée rests one of her own hands on top of Isabel’s. “I don’t know, it hasn’t really sunk in yet. And as much as I’d prepared myself for this outcome, it doesn’t compare to actually facing it. But I think I’ll be all right. I have a good support system, after all. You, Doug, Hera… hell, even Jacobi.” She laughs with the quiet chuckle of how Jacobi, against all odds, has become part of their group of friends. “And I think I’m going to try seeing a therapist again, because it’s not going to be fair to either of us if I’m not working through everything that I need to move forward. But whenever I need to talk, you’ll be the first to know.”

She passes her thumb across Isabel’s knuckles in an absent motion. Isabel leans in to kiss her forehead and wraps an arm around her as Renée settles herself comfortably against her. They linger there with no words exchanged between them, instead taking in the quiet pleasure of each other’s company in the wake of the new course that Renée’s life has taken.

“So what now?” Isabel asks eventually. “I know you’ll probably have a lot of things to take care of until the divorce is finalized, but…”

“I’m not sure, actually. This is the first time since I’ve come back to Earth that I feel like my possibilities are wide open.” Renée lifts her head from where she rests it on Isabel’s shoulder. “I know I’m going to stay here with you and everyone else, though. Because I can’t imagine being anywhere else, honestly.”

“Yeah. Same here.” Isabel unwraps her arm from around her. “You want to head back to the house now, or enjoy the fresh air some more?”

“Maybe keep walking around the block? Just so I can clear my head a bit more.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Isabel rises from the bench and offers her hand to her. Renée accepts it, and with the tight clasp of their hands they take their first step into their new future.

 

* * *

 

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?” Doug asks a week later as everyone gathers to see Jacobi off when he declares that he is ready to move on to whatever post-Goddard life he has chosen to explore. “It’s been fun having the gang all here.”

“Don’t worry. You all definitely haven’t seen the last of me,” Jacobi assures him. He hoists the strap of the bag that he carries over his shoulder. “There’s not many other places where I can hang out with a group like you, after all.”

“Where are you going to go now?” asks Hera.

“I’ll probably travel around for a bit. There are a couple of places I know I want to stop by. But after that, who knows?” He shrugs indifferently. “I’ll figure it out once I get there.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll miss you around here,” says Renée. “Though maybe not your loud couch snoring while I’m trying to drink my morning coffee in peace.”

“And _I_ won’t miss hearing you in the kitchen every morning at way-too-early o’clock,” Jacobi replies with a laugh. “All right, I guess that does it for farewells. Don’t all hug me goodbye at once.”

“Oh, come on. You know you’re not getting out of here without at least _someone_ hugging you,” Doug says.

“Yeah, that part was strictly rhetori--”

Before Jacobi has finished, Doug has pulled him into an embrace. The brief look of surprise on Jacobi’s face indicates that he has not expected a follow-through after his joking comment, but he returns the gesture regardless.

“Right.” He clears his throat after he and Doug have broken apart. “Anyone else?”

Isabel steps forward and extends her hand to him. “Safe travels, Daniel,” she says. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah.” He accepts her handshake, meeting her eyes with the firm grasp of their hands. “You too, Isabel.”

A few final goodbyes later, Jacobi departs from the house, and the sound of his car’s engine fades into the distance as he drives away. The house feels strangely empty without his presence, even though he has only been here for two weeks. He truly is one of them now, Isabel thinks, struggling to find a place in the world after having endured so much. If nothing else, she hopes that between her joint effort with him to send a final message to Goddard Futuristics and the time that he has spent living with all of them, he has realized that he is not alone in whatever path he chooses to follow.

“So no one else is going to be leaving anytime soon, right?” Doug says. “You two lovebirds aren’t going to fly off on your own too?”

He nods to where Isabel and Renée have settled themselves on the couch. Now that everyone in those house knows about their relationship, they have been much freer in the subtle displays of affection between them, and Isabel is no longer hesitant to drape her arm across Renée’s shoulders. Renée leans into her touch, their hands entwined together where they rest against her shoulder.

“Of course not,” Renée replies. “Maybe eventually, but definitely not right now.”

“Yeah, sorry, you’re still going to be stuck with us,” adds Isabel. “Besides, what would you and Hera do without the extra entertainment around here?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’d think of something,” Hera says. “We got by just fine before the two of you moved in, after all.”

That period of time seems so far away now, back when Isabel had been content to spend several weeks on her own as she took her first real step into readjusting to life on Earth. She has always acknowledged the necessity of taking that time to herself, but now she knows that she belongs here with the people who she has survived with for so long. Despite the web of complications that surround her current existence, the threads seem a little less tangled when she has the love and support of others at her side.

“You guys are the best, you know that?” she says in a sentiment that can never be said too many times. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Yeah,” replies Doug. “We’ve all come a long way, haven’t we?”

Isabel nods along with Renée and Hera’s words of agreement. She tightens her hold on Renée’s hand, and as they lean in for a stolen kiss, she firmly believes in the brightness of the future ahead of them.


End file.
